Adam's Tongue: How Humans Made Language, How Language Made Humans

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ALSO BY DEREK BICKERTON

Bastard Tongues: A Trail-Blazing Linguist Finds Clues to Our Common Humanity in the World's Lowliest Languages Lingua Ex Machina: Reconciling Darwin and Chomsky with the Human Brain (with William H. Calvin) Language and Human Behavior Language and Species Roots of Language

ADAM'S TONGUE

ADAM'S TONGUE How HUMANS MADE LANGUAGE, How LANGUAGE MADE HUMANS

D EREK BIC KERTON

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WANG

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NEW YORK

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Hill and Wang A division of Farrar, Straus and Giroux 18 West 18th Street, New York IOon Copyright © 2009 by Derek Bickerton All rights reserved Distributed in Canada by Douglas & Mcintyre Ltd. Printed in the United States of America First edition, 2009 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Bickerton, Derek. Adam's tongue: how humans made language, how language made humans / Derek Bickerton.- 1st ed. p.

cm.

Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN-I3: 978-0-8090-2281-6 (alk. paper) ISBN-Io: 0-8090-2281-8 (alk. paper) 2. Human evolution.

I. Language and languages. 3· Psycholinguistics. Pl06.B4667

Introduction 3 The Size of the Problem 16 2: Thinking Like Engineers 37 3: Singing Apes? 55 4: Chatting Apes? 73 5: Niches Aren't Everything (They're the Only Thing) 92 6: Our Ancestors in Their Niches 109 7: Go to the Ant, Thou Sluggard 128 8: The Big Bang 146 9: The Challenge from Chomsky 169 10: Making Up Our Minds 192 II: An Acorn Grows to a Sapling 211 12: The Sapling Becomes an Oak 232 I:

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2009

40I-dc22 2008045906 Designed by Jonathan D. Lippincott www.fsgbooks.com I

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Notes 251 Bibliography 259 Acknowledgments 273 Index 275

IN TROD U C TION

You can try this at home. No specially constructed course, safety equipment, or medical assis­ tance of any kind is required. It's what's called a thought experiment. Thought experiments are vital to science. Without thought experiments, we'd never have had the theory of relativity. If Einstein hadn't imagined what riding on a beam of light would be like, or what would happen if two gangsters shot at each other, one in a moving elevator, one outside, we'd still be stuck with the Newtonian universe. This particular thought experiment is very simple. You just have to imagine for a moment that you don't have language and nobody else has, either. Not speech, mind you. Language. For some people these are synonymous. My heart sinks every time I open a new book on human evolution, turn to the index, and find the entry "language: see speech." "You don't see speech, you idiot," I feel like yelling. "You hear speech." You can have speech without it meaning a thing; lots of parrots do. Speech is simply one vehicle for lan­ guage. Another is manual sign. (I'm talking about the structured sign languages of the deaf, like American Sign Language, not the ad hoc ges­ tures hearing people use.) Language is what determines the meanings of words and signs and what combines them into meaningful wholes, wholes that add up to conversations, speeches, essays, epic poems. Language goes beyond that, even; it's what makes your thoughts truly

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meaningful, what builds your ideas into structured wholes. (If you doubt this, or feel it's a stretch, just read on to the end of the book.) Even if you think you think in images, language is what puts those images together to make meaningful wholes, rather than just disordered, tan­ gled messes. Think of how, without language, you'd do any of the things you do, without thinking, every day of your life. Writing letters (e-mail or snail mail). Answering the phone. Talking to those you love. Following the instructions for assembling the new gadget you just bought. Reading road signs (okay, some are graphic symbols, but the meanings of such symbols are not transparent-you have to learn, through language, that a picture of something with a diagonal line through it means you're not supposed to do that thing). Playing any game (you learned the rules, spoken or written, through language). Shopping (you couldn't read the labels on the cans; indeed, there wouldn't be any labels to read, if there was even a store to shop in). Rehearsing the excuses you'll make to your boss for coming in late. The list goes on and on. When you get to the end of it, here's what you'll find: everything you do that makes you human, each one of the countless things you can do that other species can't, depends crucially on language. Language is what makes us human. Maybe it's the only thing that makes us human.

bipeds and Diogenes refuted him with a plucked chicken. In 1758 Carl Linnaeus, the Swedish botanist who first classified species, termed us Homo sapiens-wise man-and later on, when the multiple-branching tree of human evolution was revealed, and we had to disentangle our­ selves from Neanderthals and "early" Homo sapiens (presumed ancestor of both us and them), we became Homo sapiens sapiens: wisest of the wise. (Look around you and tell me if you think that's accurate.) Look up "human being" in the online Encyclopaedia Britannica and youl1 find "a culture-bearing primate that is anatomically similar and related to the other great apes but is distinguished by a more highly developed brain and a resultant capacity for articulate speech and abstract reason­ ing." "Resultant," indeed! This is one of those remarks that seem to make sense, like "The sun rises in the east," until you ask yourself, is that what really happened? Darwin knew a century and a half ago that the Encyclopaedia had it backward-that it wasn't a "highly developed brain" that gave us lan­ guage (not speech!) and abstract thought, but language that gave us abstract thought and a highly developed brain. "If it be maintained that certain powers, such as self-consciousness, abstraction etc., are peculiar to man, it may well be that these are the incidental results of other highly advanced intellectual faculties, and these again are mainly the result of the continued use of a highly developed language." Nobody followed up on this. It was bad enough having an ape as one's great-granddaddy-worse still if all that really divided us was that we could talk and he couldn't. It was much more flattering to our self­ esteem to suppose that our marvelous brains and minds just . . . grew somehow, got smarter all by themselves, and then started pouring out a cornucopia of thought and invention, science and literature, all the things that proved us the wisest of the wise. So we heard endlessly that what distinguished us as humans was our consciousness, our self­ consciousness, our foresight, our hindsight, our imagination, our ability to reason and to plan, and on and on. Not one word about how any of these miraculous abilities evolved. That might have forced us to really look at language and how language began and what it did for us. But the belief that language was merely one of many outputs of our wonderful brains, though not quite universal, was widespread enough to make lan­ guage origins look like an isolated problem, one you could split off from

It's also the greatest problem in science. You don't agree with that? Well then, what would you say were the greatest problems in science? How life began? How the universe be­ gan? Whether there's intelligent life anywhere else in the universe? None of these are questions we could even ask if we didn't have lan­ guage. How we got language is a question that logically precedes all other scientific questions, because without language there wouldn't be any scientific questions. How can we know whether our answers to those questions have any validity, if we don't even know how we came to be able to ask them? Since the dawn of time humans have wondered what it means to be human. Every answer you can think of has been proposed, and some you couldn't have thought of. Plato defined humans as featherless

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the rest of evolution, even the rest of human evolution, and crack at leisure, when there wasn't anything more pressing to be done, One thing writers on language origins all-too-often ignore, but that I want to emphasize throughout this book, is that language evolution is part of human evolution, and makes sense only if considered as a part of human evolution. Another thing that discouraged people from coming to grips with language evolution was that it was such a hard problem. Insoluble, some said. In 1967 the psychologist Eric Lenneberg published a book, for the most part excellent, called Biological Foundations of Language. Now you'd think in a book with that title there would be, somewhere, some hint or at least a guess as to how those foundations got founded-how the mills of biological evolution managed to grind out such a unique product. But there isn't: Lenneberg concluded (always a rash move in science) that here was a question that could never be answered. Even two students of language evolution, writing very recently, described the origin of language as "the hardest problem in science." Language leaves no fossils. You can't do experiments (at least not ethical ones). Language is a population of one, a truly unique trait. And that's something all sci­ entists dread, because it means you can't use comparative methods, and comparing things that are similar but differ slightly from one another forms one of the most fruitful procedures known to science. It's hardly surprising, then, that attempts to explain how language evolved-and there's been a growing number of these over the past few years-should have gone off in dozens of different directions. Nor is it sur­ prising that these explanations have shied away from the very heart of the problem. You can read endless accounts of what skills and capacities our ancestors had to have before they could get language, or what selective pressures might have favored the emergence of language; you can read accounts, not quite endless and usually sketchier, of how language devel­ oped once it had begun. But you will read little, and that little extremely vague, about what I once called "the magic moment"-the moment when our ancestors first broke away from the kind of communication system that had served all other species well for at least half a billion years. How language evolved isn't just a hard problem in itself. It's been made much harder to solve by two factors, both of which

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are actually quite irrelevant to it, but which we'll have to deal with if we are to start with a clear idea of what the problem really is (and also of what it isn't). One factor concerns the way in which evolution in general, and therefore human evolution in particular, has been presented by the neo-Darwinian consensus of the last century. I'll get to that in a moment. First I want to deal with an issue that will seem to many, per­ haps most, as even more pressing and urgent: the status of the human species itself. What's that got to do with language evolution? You're right-nothing. And yet the evolution of language has been dragged willy-nilly into the culture wars, the epic and still unresolved struggle between those who want things to stay the way they are and those for whom they can't change too quickly. Before the last century, there weren't many who dissented from the established view of "man's place in the universe." The human species, always identified with one half of it, was somewhere between ape and angel, equipped with an immortal soul (unlike the beasts), destined for eternal life (unlike the beasts), and in general enjoying an exalted status as a one-of-a-kind, specially created darling of the Almighty. Needless to say, the intellectual (as well as moral) powers of these anointed beings outshone the capacities of mere animals as the sun outshines the moon. As Darwin's ideas spread, this notion of human status grew less and less sustainable. There gradually emerged an alternative view of human­ ity, humans as a species of ape, ground out like all species by the mills of natural selection, with nothing that made it more valuable than any other species, and nothing of any real importance that made it signifi­ cantly different from any other species. At first, this view served as a highly salutary corrective to the supremacist take on humans. But soon the two views were in full-on combat mode. And in war, if truth is the first casualty, objectivity goes out in the very next body bag. There was an agenda (Get rid of superstitious nonsense!). There was a dogma (Evolution was always and everywhere a very slow and grad­ ual process). On the rational scientific side (that's the godless material­ ist side, if you're on the other side), agenda and dogma combined to give a single program. It became mandatory to deny every difference be­ tween humans and other species that could in any way be interpreted as showing the superiority of humans. Everything that had been inter-

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preted in this way must be reinterpreted as the result of minuscule changes in ancestral and other related species, species whose histories simply had to be littered with "precursors of," and "stepping-stones toward," any capacity that had been regarded as uniquely human. There could not be anything you could call a discontinuity. A few holdouts would reluctantly allow a small measure of discontinuity in language, but even here it was widely believed that nonlanguage somehow segued into language, through precursors, across stepping-stones, without any real Rubicon to cross. Anything else was a no-no-meant giving aid and comfort, even tacit endorsement, to those who were increasingly perceived as enemies, those who still believed humans arose through a unique act of creation. As I have written elsewhere, to suggest that the discontinuity between language and nonlanguage was only part of a much greater discontinuity fell somewhere, on the scale of political correctness, between Holocaust denial and rejecting global warming. Despite the fact that, as an intrepid trio of researchers wrote, "human animals-and no other-build fires and wheels, diagnose each other's illnesses, communicate using sym­ bols, navigate with maps, risk their lives for ideals, collaborate with each other, explain the world in terms of hypothetical causes, punish strangers for breaking rules, imagine possible scenarios, and teach each other all of the above." This, and much more; the list compiled by Derek Penn and his colleagues barely scratches the surface of all the things humans can do that no member of any other species has even come close to doing. If the gap between humans and other animals is as small as we've been told, what in the world could possibly be this minuscule difference that makes all other animals do so little and us do so much? So far as I'm aware, none of those who argue for continuity between humans and other species have ever realized, let alone admitted, that each time the gap is minimized, the manifold, manifest abilities of humans become more mysterious than ever. Does that mean we must accept some all-powerful deity, or some enigmatic Intelligent Designer? Of course not. The evidence for evolution is far too widespread, far too strong: somehow, somewhere, perfectly normal evolutionary pro­ cesses have produced the difference, whatever it is. We've just been lazy. We haven't done our due diligence. And in the interests of dogma, we've

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nuity kissed objectivity goodbye. Discontinuity exists, and that disconti mind. human the of is not limited to language-it extends to all aspects We have, first, to admit that it exists. Then we have to figure out how evolution could have produced it. In nature, a tiny change can sometimes lead to a phase transition. A few degrees down, liquid water becomes ice. A few degrees up, it becomes steam. Steam and ice and water are things that behave in totally different ways, yet the boundaries between them are, pun in­ tended, still just a matter of degrees. Or take living creature s-take flight in insects. Nobody's sure how insects developed flight. Did they enlarge the gills they'd used in their previous aquatic existence until they were big enough to glide with? Did they grow vibratory devices for cooling purposes that, one fine day, lifted the first of them into the atmosphere? Whatever happened, those first flights would have been over in seconds, but a barrier had been breached, a totally new realm had been opened up, a realm with new and limitless possibilities. Now there's a discontinuity for you. What powered the human mind was the intellectual equivalent of flight. Penn and his coauthors assumed there were two discontinuities, not one: a particular discontinuity in language and a more general disconti­ nuity in cognition. They couldn't see how the first could have caused the second. They didn't show how the second could have caused the first, either. What they failed to face was the profound improbability that, in a single, otherwise unremarkable lineage of terrestrial apes, two evolutionary discontinuities of this magnitude could have emerged. It doesn't make sense. One would be bad enough. And in this book, for the first time ever, I'm going to show you not just how language evolved, but how language caused the human mind to evolve. But why did any of this happen? If prehumans broke from a communicative pattern that had served all other species well for half a billion years, they must have been driven by some kind of need-a very strong need, surely, to produce such rad­ ical consequences. Perhaps they developed a new kind of behavior that required them to communicate in ways beyond the range of previous communication systems. But the neo-Darwinian consensus of the twen­ tieth century seemed to rule out any such development.

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According to George Williams, an icon of modern evolutionary bi­ ology, '1\daptation is always asymmetrical; organisms adapt to their environment, never vice versa." On the face of things, this sounds in­ disputable; how could the environment-rocks and trees, wind and rain and sunlight-adapt itself to you and me? But a consequence of Williams's position, one widely shared among evolutionists, is that evo­ lution becomes a one-way street. '1\daptation" makes it sound as if organisms are doing something positive, but that's not what it means. It means that animals, including us, are not agents of their own destiny, but automatically throw off random genetic recombinations and occa­ sional mutations from which the environment selects. That's natural selection. Nothing in the animals' actual behavior has any effects or any significant consequences. This is the view of evolution taken to its log­ ical extreme by Richard Dawkins's "selfish gene, genes are everything" approach. Now if what I just described was the whole evolutionary story, there'd be no point in searching through the course of human evolution for some special, unique behavior that could have triggered language. There couldn't be one. Our ancestors must simply have gone on having sex with one another and recombining their genes and tossing out the odd mutation until one fine day they hit the jackpot with some combi­ nation that made language, at least in a very simple form, possible. And then once they were capable of language, it was what the French call an embarras du choix ; there were just too many things for which language would obviously be useful. Hunting, toolmaking, social relations, rit­ uals, gossip, scheming for power, attracting mates, controlling chil­ dren . . . All these and more have been proposed as the original function of language. After all, these activities were all carried on by other pri­ mates. And since we were primates with primate genes, and since genes were what determined behavior, there was no point in looking any­ where but at our closest relatives, the great apes (who unlike our imme­ diate ancestors had the advantage of being alive and well and available for study), if we wanted to know how language began. Irene Pepperberg, who has shown that at least one species of parrot has as much language potential as apes, called this the "primate-centric" approach to language evolution. Let's look a little more closely at Williams's dictum. "Organisms

I N TR O D U C T I O N

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adapt to their environment." Not the environment, note-their environ­ ment. The environment as a whole doesn't select for anything. (The weather in Alaska doesn't bother Hawaiian finches. ) A species is only affected by the environment that immediately surrounds it. But that environment is in its turn changed, sometimes drastically, by the species that inhabit it. Goats cause deforestation. Worms enrich the soil. Beavers flood valleys. Seabirds dumped so much guano on the island of Nauru that, now that the Nauruans have sold it all, there's hardly any island left. So the selector in natural selection isn't some generalized, abstract "environment"; it's a part of the environment that has already been worked over by its inhabitants. What living organisms did to that environment will then select for new traits in those organisms that will enable them to modify their environment still further, which in turn . . . Get the idea? It sets up a constant feedback process. So evolution is no longer just selfish genes mindlessly replicating themselves. It's a process in which the things animals do guide their own evolution. This happens to be a much more user-friendly view of evolution, but that's not why you should accept it. You should accept it because it's closer to the truth. It's only in the last few years that this view, one known to biologists as niche construction theory, has developed; it's still hardly known to outsiders. Nobody has yet used it to look at language evolution. I'll explain what niche construction theory says in chapter 5. All we need here is the radically changed picture of human evolution that it gives us. No longer is human evolution, and the complex culture that human evolution produced, a one-of-a-kind anomaly. What drives it can now be seen as a process operating in many other species-possibly most species. Human culture is just the human niche. It's the way we adapt our environment to suit ourselves, in the same way that the complex worlds of ant nests or termite mounds are the way ants and termites adapt the environment to suit them. We do it by learn­ ing, they do it by instinct; big deal. We can do it by learning only because we have language, which is by now the fruit of instinct just as much as a termite mound is. And language itself is a prize example of niche construction. What this new theory suggests is that people have been seeking the

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origin of language in all the wrong places. Previous treatments fall into one of two categories. Either language was some exotic gift that fell from on high for no very clear reason, or it was such a simple and obviously useful thing that any of a dozen factors might equally well have selected for it. We11 meet both kinds of explanation in the pages that follow, and see what's wrong with each of them. From the perspective of niche construction theory, language could only be the logical result-maybe even the inevitable result-of some very specific choices our ancestors made and some very particular actions they performed. To be more precise, they must have started to do something that no species of even remotely similar brain power had attempted, something that could not be accomplished unless they some­ how broke through the limitations that restrict almost all other animal communication systems. And of course, once they broke through, once they established a new kind of system, they would have moved into a new niche-the language niche. No matter how crude or how primitive that first system was, it would be subject to the same feedback loop­ behavior to genes, genes to behavior, behavior back to geries again­ that all forms of niche construction create. Language would change, grow, and develop until it became the infinitely complex, infinitely sub­ tle medium that we all know and use (and take totally for granted!) today and every day of our lives.

Second, I want to dispose of some of the many confounding factors that have bedeviled the study of language evolution, that have made it a chaos of conflicting theories, extravagant claims, and irreconcilable positions. One of these factors I've already noted: the "primate-centric bias" that affects so many in this field, focusing exclusively on our genetic continuity with the great apes and ignoring all the environmen­ tal and ecological differences between our ancestors and theirs. Another factor, closely allied with this one, is the belief that the com­ munication systems of other species make up some kind of hierarchy, like a ladder or a pyramid with language seated firmly on top. It's as if the communication systems of other species were no more than a series of botched attempts at language: they did their best, but weren't quite up to it; only we were smart enough to scale the pinnacle. This is what you might call the "homocentric bias" -folk seldom admit to it, but it's colored all too many theories. Watch out for people who talk about "pre­ cursors" of this or that aspect of language, or who seek "stepping-stones to language" in the communication of other species: these are some of the signs of homocentric bias. In reality, the communication system of any species is designed sim­ ply and solely to take care of that species' evolutionary needs. There's no evidence anywhere for a cumulative or "progressive" tendency operat­ ing across communication as a whole. A third factor is assuming that language was originally a target for natural selection. This looks like a no-brainer. Language was what evolved, and evolution proceeds through natural selection, so language had to be selected for, didn't it? The question then becomes simply, what selected for it? Was it hunting, toolmaking, child care, social com­ petitiveness, sexual display? All these and more have been picked by some experts as the pressure. Not surprisingly, there's no good reason to choose any one of these over the others; indeed all of them are seriously flawed in one way or another. The error here, made even by those who think the earliest language was far simpler than the languages of today, is thinking that language could have been a target at all. How could it be a target, even in its sim­ plest, most basic form, when it couldn't even exist until some of the nec­ essary bits and pieces had been assembled? Instead of asking how language evolved, we should be asking what caused our ancestors to take the first halting steps away from the kind of

I have two goals in writing this book. First, I have a burning desire to convince you that language is the key to what it means to be human, and that without understanding how language evolved, we can never hope to explain or understand our­ selves. I'm not saying this because the evolution of language happens to be what I've been thinking about for the last couple of decades. It's the other way around. I've been thinking about the evolution of language for the last couple of decades precisely because I'm convinced it's the key to understanding humanity, and for no other reason. I didn't have to do it. I don't need the money, not that there's much money in it. I could have stretched out on a chaise longue by the pool with a pitcher of mar­ garitas and blown the days away. But the desire I have to convince you merely reflects my own passionate need to know, to understand, what humans really are-a need I've had all my life.

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communication system all other animals had and have. We should be looking at those ancestors' way of life, what they were trying to do and how they did it, and then asking which of the constraints on animal communication those activities would have forced them to break. If we can avoid all of these confounding factors, we may be able to get past the two head-butting alternatives in which the language evolu­ tion debate is all too often framed: • •

'l\ll communication systems are on a continuum." "Language is a totally different kind of communication system."

Too often, these contradictory positions are argued on ideological rather than scientific grounds: those who want humans to be just another species take the first position, and those who thinkhumans are something very special take the second. We have to realize that the dichotomy is a false one; the second may be true now, but it certainly wasn't then, whenever "then" was. We have to look, more closely than anyone has yet done, at how our ancestors could have first cracked the mold of animal communication, and how that first breakthrough, in a species not so distant from our own, could have unleashed a cascade of change that would radically alter not just communication, but the very minds that communicated. It's a long story, a complex story. But is it the true, the only real story? I can't guarantee that. Science isn't faith. What seemed certain yes­ terday can look like nonsense tomorrow, yet become possible again the day after. Not because scientists can't make up their minds, but because new knowledge is constantly coming in, because that knowledge inevitably changes (hopefully improves) our picture of reality, and because, not being faith-based observers, we have to ensure that our theories fit that picture. What I can guarantee is that, on the basis of what we presently know about humans, evolution, human evolution, biology, and language, what you will read in the following chapters represents the best and best-supported account it's possible to get today. What we know may

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change, and it may no longer be the best, but our knowledge would have to change a lot before that happened. For what I think will remain true, regardless of new discoveries, is the idea that we must look for the source of language not in the things apes do today, but things our ances­ tors did that apes didn't do. But that, as they say, is an empirical question. You be the judge. If you enjoy this book half as much as I've enjoyed writing it, it will have been more than worthwhile.

T HE S I ZE O F T HE P R O B LE M

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T HE SIZE OF THE PROBLEM

WH Y T H E R E ' S :-JO DR. D O L I T T L E

Almost all animate organisms communicate with one another . . somehow. Fireflies flash. Frogs croak. Crickets, grasshoppers, and the like rub their legs together, or against their wing cases, producing the kinds of sound known as stridulations. Birds perform songs of varying degrees of complexity. Wolves howl. Dolphins emit sonar signals; they whistle too. Some lizards inflate pouches in their necks, or change color. Gibbons engage in bizarre duets that can last for an hour or more. Apes and monkeys have a range of strategies: hoots, barks, gestures, facial expressions. Bees dance. Ants do it with chemistry. The means differ­ ent species use for communication are so bewilderingly diverse and so different from one another that you might well think something pretty complex is going on. It isn't. A decade ago, Marc Hauser published what is still the most thor­ ough and complete study of animal communication systems (ACSs for short; sorry about that, I loathe acronyms with a passion, but if you had to read "animal communication system" as often as 111 have to write it in the next few chapters, you'd understand-even forgive). He found that all the information conveyed by ACSs falls into three broad cate­ gories. There are signals that relate to individual survival, signals that relate to mating and reproduction, and signals that relate to other kinds of interactions among members of the same species-call them social signals. Some signals are hard to fit into a single group. For instance, a · .

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signal of appeasement, used in confrontations when your enemy looks to be winning, is on the face of things a social signal, but it could also fall under "survival" -if you don't make it, you could get killed. But no sig­ nal falls outside of those three areas. No ACS can be used to talk about the weather, or the scenery, or your neighbor's latest doings, let alone to plan for the future or recall the past. Of course it would be an enormous benefit for any animal if it could recall the past, noting all the mistakes it had made, and plan for the future, eliminating those mistakes. Such an achievement would maxi­ mize an animal's fitness, which is biology-speak for saying the animal would live longer, have more offspring, and spread its genes more widely. And that's what evolution's about: who dies with the most kids wins. So you may well wonder why we alone have language-why we don't inhabit a Dr. Dolittle world, where we could chat with chimps, converse with cats, debate with dogs, rap with rabbits, and yak with yaks, while all these creatures did the same things with one another. The answer is, evolution doesn't develop things just because they'd be useful for a species to have. Evolution is a minimalist. It doesn't do a lick more than it has to. And it's also limited by what it has to work with. What it has to work with are the bodily shapes and mental abilities that exist in any species at any given moment, and the behaviors that those shapes and abilities make possible. Since within any one species those shapes, abilities, and behaviors can't vary all that much, almost all evo­ lutionary changes are gradual and small. Very occasionally there may be a tipping point, but for the most part, nature doesn't even look like it makes leaps. So the means by which animals communicate-all the flashes, calls, gestures, and so forth I mentioned at the beginning of this chapter-are seldom if ever things that were designed from the beginning to commu­ nicate with. Rather they are modifications or stylizations or amplifica­ tions of things animals would do anyway, things that when they started out may have had little or nothing to do with communication. This was the conclusion of the earliest ethologists, scholars like Nikolaas Tinbergen and Konrad Lorenz, and though interpretations of the func­ tion and significance of ACS units have changed radically since the 1950S, our understanding of where they came from hasn't changed. Over time, through frequent co-occurrence, these original behaviors

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became associated with certain situations, and hence with the kinds of messages appropriate to those situations. Their users didn't consciously mean to communicate in the way we do when we want a window closed and say, "Please close the window": ACSs aren't just a cheap substitute for language, but something entirely different. Their users, in the process of reacting to situations, provided clues as to how other animals should react in those situations; interpreting such clues correctly improved those animals' chances of survival. Thus in a confrontational situation between mammals, shrinking postures and high-pitched sounds indicate an intent to appease the aggressor. Among songbirds belonging to species that defend territory, songs of a certain type and intensity suggest willingness to combat an intruder. And so on. This already makes language sound unlikely. The simplest and most straightforward source for it would be sounds drawn from the ACS of the last common ancestor of chimpanzees and humans. But if those sounds were anything like the sounds chimps make, the chances of modifying or ritualizing them into words, not to mention sentences, look small. And that's even before you consider problems of meaning. To lift yourself by your bootstraps, you first have to have bootstraps.

poor animal saw a leopard and yelped; it just couldn't help it. Now researchers have found that animals, though unable to speak, aren't that dumb. If they're alone, they don't call. If they're not with close relatives, they're less likely to call than if they're with immediate family. Food calls-signals that announce the discovery of food, sometimes even its kind or quality as well as its location-can again be unhelpful to the individual if it means sharing a tasty tidbit with others instead of hogging it alone. But the same standard of inclusive fitness applies: benefit your brother and you're giving your own genes, at least some of them, a boost. So all survival calls relate directly to increasing fitness. Now take reproduction signals. These may involve advertisements of immediate availability, such as the swelling of female genitalia in some primates when they are in estrus, or they may merely announce "I am a malelfemale of species X." At the other extreme, they may involve elaborate courtship dances, or the construction of complex artifacts (such as a decorated bower) to attract females. The simpler signals merely ensure that the right sexes of the right species get together at the right times. Clearly, if at one time there were animals that signaled their sex and their species alongside other animals that didn't, the first lot would meet and mate oftener than the second, so eventually every mem­ ber of the species would make those signals. The more complex signals indicate not only that a mate is available but suggest that a mate of the highest quality is available. As Darwin long ago pointed out, female choice-the desire of any female to secure the best breeding stock, to bag a mate that will send her genes further into futurity-forms one of evolution's most powerful engines. So again with reproduction we have a set of signals that directly increase fitness. Finally, let's turn to social signals. These don't have to be social in the sense of friendly; they don't even have to be limited to social species. They can relate to any kind of interaction between members of the same species. Take for example solitary birds that defend a territory, perhaps with a single mate. The signals they send to discourage intruders fall into the social category just as much as more intimate signals like the "nurSing poke" used by infant apes to get their mothers to feed them. While the increase in fitness that results from these signals may not always be as direct or as obvious as with survival or mating signals, it is not insignificant. The animal that makes a rival back off without having

WHY O T H E R A N I M A L S H AV E S O L I TTLE TO TA L K A B O U T

It gets worse. Why do ACS units contain only survival, mating, and social signals? It's because those areas and only those areas are ones where signals can significantly increase an animal's fitness. Look at survival calls. These include predator warning calls and food calls. A predator warning call doesn't improve the survival chances of the animal that makes the call. In fact it reduces them; it calls attention to that animal, makes it stand out as a target. But it does improve the survival chances of that animal's close relatives, who carry many of the same genes. This is what biologists mean when they talk about "inclu­ sive fitness." You don't do stuff just to increase your own chance of sending more offspring into the world-the same purpose is served if you increase the chances of your siblings or other close kin doing so. Once it was thought that things like warning calls were entirely auto­ . matic, like the way you blink if someone pokes a finger in your eye. The

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to fight avoids possible injury or death. The animal that encourages oth­ ers to groom it benefits from more than the elimination of vermin. Given that the favor is returned, affiliative bonds are then established, status within the group is enhanced, access to sexual or nutritional opportuni­ ties is increased. Better living means longer living and more progeny­ once more, increased fitness.

to have evolved, others that it couldn't really be unique at all. But unique stuff can evolve through natural selection, so Pinker insists that "a lan­ guage instinct unique to modern humans poses no more of a paradox than a trunk unique to elephants." He's wrong. An elephant's trunk results from hyperdevelopment of the nose and adjacent parts of the face in the common ancestor of ele­ phants and hyraxes, and anatomists can point to the exact physical ingredients that went into its makeup. But Pinker doesn't tell you what ingredients went into the making of language. (And anyway, isn't it a bit weird to compare a behavior with a body part?) Uniqueness isn't the issue. Unlikeness is the issue. And that is something Pinker, like everyone else who writes on language evolution, doesn't really tackle. For every other "unique" thing that's evolved, you can see what was there before it, what evolution had to work on in order to produce it. Not with language. Take what looks on the face of things the best, if not the only candi­ date: the communication system of the last common ancestor. But to get from any ACS to language would involve two tasks, just for starters. First, evolution would have to find the raw material-some already existing behavior that could be taken and twisted and refined into an appropriate medium. Second, and this is a task orders of magnitude harder, it would have to uncouple this new system from currently occur­ ring situations involving fitness. That's actually three tasks in one. The system would have to be uncoupled from situations, from current occurrence, and from fitness. Let me explain. ACS units-all the calls, flashes, and gestures that constitute ACSs-are all anchored to particular situations: aggressive confronta­ tion, search for a sex partner, appearance of a predator, discovery of food, and so forth. They would be meaningless if used outside those situations. Language units-words, manual signs-are not. They're meaningful in any situation. If I say, "Look out, a tiger is about to jump on you," you may know I'm just kidding, but you know perfectly well what the words mean-they mean exactly what they'd mean if a tiger really was about to jump on you. Some linguists and philosophers may still tell you that words relate directly to individual objects in the world-dogs, chairs, trees-but

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WH Y LANGUAGE IS SO ANOMALOUS

Now that we've established two of the most basic features of ACSs­ that they grew from behaviors not originally meant for communication and respond only to situations that directly affect fitness-we can begin to realize the enormous size of the problem that language poses for the biological sciences. People often think that the core of this problem is the uniqueness of language. It isn't. Lots of things about humans are unique: bipedalism and absence of body hair (among terrestrial mammals, anyway), the precision grip of thumb and forefinger, even the whites of our eyes. Lots of other species have unique features too: the elephant's trunk, the giraffe's neck, the peacock's tail. And the hammering of woodpeckers, the heat-sensing of pit vipers, the trap-digging of ant lions are behaviors as unique as the physical forms of elephants, giraffes, or peacocks. But no other unique feature of any species is as isolated from the rest of evo­ lution as language is. Bipedalism isn't all that special. Birds managed it. Kangaroos come close. Closely related apes get up and hunker around on their hind legs from time to time. Our grip differs from that of ape fingers only in its greater range and degree of control. Hairlessness is unique, in our case, only because it's lifelong; the young of many mammalian species emerge naked from the womb and only later grow hair. Instead, let's compare another feature that's not human but is gen­ uinely unique: the elephant's trunk. In his book The Language Instinct the psycholinguist Steven Pinker actually uses the elephant's trunk to make language seem less of an anomaly than it really is. He asks his readers to "imagine what might happen if some biologists were ele­ phants" -as with language, some would say the trunk was too unique

ADAM'S TONG U E

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they don't even do that, or rather they do so only indirectly, via the con­ cepts of these objects that we have in our minds. If I say, "Dogs bark," what actual dogs am I referring to? Big dogs? Brown dogs? The dogs down the road? Obviously not. All dogs, then? Not necessarily. I didn't say all-my statement cannot be refuted by a barkless dog. What it means is, "Dogs as a general rule bark," or "Barking is a fairly reliable sign of dogginess." Well, just point out to me "dogginess" or "dogs as a general rule." You can't; there's no such critters. We have what may be vague but are fully functional ideas of what dogs are like, and that's what we're referring to. If we want to refer to a specific dog or dogs we can't just say "dog" or "dogs"; we have to say "this dog," "those dogs over there," "the dog with the waggly tail." So in order to get to language, the reference of meaningful units-signs or words-has somehow to be shifted from concrete situations to the concepts we have of particular things in the world. But what ACSs are grounded in aren't just any old situations. They're situations that are occurring right now, at the very moment the ACS signal is being waved or flashed or yelped. No animal can use a predator alarm call to remind its fellows about the predator that ap­ peared yesterday, or the predator that often hangs around the water hole. No chance of an advance warning, no reprise of what went wrong last time. Each utterance of an ACS unit is tied to whatever is going on in the immediate vicinity right at that moment. Words, on the contrary, are relatively seldom used about what's going on before our eyes. We can usually see that for ourselves, so what would be the point? We still have body language; for things like showing how far we'll push a con­ frontation, or how strong our sex desire is, good old body language works as well for us as for any other species, often much better than words. On the other hand, with words we can do stuff way beyond the here and now. We can exchange ideas about things infinitely remote in space and time, things we may never have seen, even things like ghosts or angels that may not exist. So somehow communication has to be released from bondage to what's happening right now. Finally, there's freedom from fitness. We have seen how the function of ACS units is to improve fitness; no unit even comes into existence unless it improves fitness in some way. Some people have conjectured that language as a whole increases fitness. Now it may well be that at

some stage in evolution, ancestors of ours who had more developed lan­ guage skills left more offspring than those whose skills were less devel­ oped. But though this is a plausible conjecture, there's zero evidence for it, and in any case it's a totally different issue. The point is that no ACS signal occurs in any situation that doesn't directly involve fitness. And this certainly isn't true of words or signs. They can refer to anything at all, whether it has any connection with fitness or none. And, leaving aside one or two exceptions like "Fire!" or "Help!," a word can't, in itself, by itself, contribute in any way to fitness. And these exceptions, when you come to think about them, are more like ACS calls than reg­ ular words-they're tied to situations in just the way ACS signals are. If you doubt me, try shouting "Firer' in a crowded theater, or ask yourself whether "fire" works the same way in "Help! Firer' as it does in "There's nothing like a nice warm fire on a winter's evening." Let's do another thought experiment. There must have been a time when the first system that broke the ACS mold-the first protolan­ guage, let's call it-had ten units or fewer. So think of any ten words or signs that, singly or in combination, would increase the survival chances and/or procreative capacities of their user. There are some constraints on this exercise, of course. There's no point in saying things that could equally well be conveyed without words. Expressions like "I'm hotr' or "Check this for size!" don't qual­ ify; nonlinguistic means can express them more than adequately. Also, first words have to be plausible as first words; they can't be abstract, but must be things whose meaning could easily be demonstrated, by mim­ icry, pointing, or whatever. Finally, their message can't depend on the way they're assembled; most people in the field agree that words came before syntax. So while you're allowed to string words together in an ad hoc fashion, the final meaning can't depend on the positions the words hold with respect to one another. No prizes, I'm afraid. If I were to offer prizes, you'd have to swear you hadn't read past chapter 5, and I'd have to believe you. Why is this experiment important? Why "ten words or fewer"? Why not "twenty" or "fifty" or "a hundred"? I mean, give language a break; what use would you expect fewer than ten words to have? Well, the point is that if the first few words did not have some imme­ diate and tangible payoff that couldn't have been obtained by simpler

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means, language would never have gotten past ten words, or even that far. Evolution has no foresight. It doesn't think, well, if we can crank lan­ guage up to say fifty or maybe a hundred words, here's all the nifty things we can do with it. Actually I'm being generous with ten. From word one, language had to pull its adaptive weight, confer some kind of benefit. If not, then nobody would have bothered to invent any more words.

bos, orangutans, bottlenose dolphins, African gray parrots, sea lions-all of the species most closely related to us and some that are more distantly related. And that's pretty much all the species people have tried to teach language to. I don't know of any cases in which people have tried and failed, though I wouldn't bet on your chances with frogs. Seriously, it looks like any species with a sufficiently complex brain ("sufficiently" still being a black box) can acquire some kind of protolanguage, so it's need, not brain size, that's the most crucial factor. It follows as night follows day that if humans got language, they can only have got it because they had some pressing need for it. Some need, moreover, that no other species (or at least no other species of even remotely comparable complexity) ever had. There must have been something they needed to do in order to survive that they couldn't do within the limits of a standard ACS. People have always wondered how language began. Only since Darwin have they rephrased the question as "How did language evolve?" But even after Darwin the idea lingered-seldom explicitly stated, but almost always implicit-that we could have gotten into lan­ guage through things we already did, simply because we could do them better with language. People seem to have thought: Here's all these other animals, all trying to communicate as best they can, then here's us with our bigger brains doing it better-end of story. Hardly anyone seems to have realized the immense uniformity of ACSs, under their superficially different guises, or how closely connected ACSs are to spe­ cific requirements of situation and fitness, and hence how radical a departure language was. What we are being asked to believe is the following: Every other species took countless millions of years to develop rudi­ mentary communication systems tied inexorably to the things they needed to do in order to survive. Our species in a tiny fraction of that time developed a vastly more complex system just so that we could do things we already did, and that other species did too, better than those other species could do them. Put in such stark terms, no one who believes in evolution is going to buy this. Such beliefs survive precisely because they are seldom made as explicit as this. Yet they underlie probably a large majority of explana­ tions as to why and how language began.

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So to obtain freedom from fitness, freedom from situations, freedom from the here and now all in one package, so to speak, represents an enormous task, a task without precedent in the three billion years since the first primitive life-forms emerged on this planet. Think of it. Think of all the billions of species there have been, in all those years. Not a single one of them failed to get by with a standard ACS. All the things they needed to do could be done with that ACS. And in ACSs in general, there was nothing you could call progress. You might think that, since chimps are more complex than dogs, and dogs are more complex than crickets, chimps would have more complex ACSs than dogs, and dogs would have more complex ACSs than crick­ ets. It's true that there's a rough-a very rough-correlation between the complexity of a species and the number of units its ACS has. Fish tend to have more than insects, mammals more than fish, primates more than other kinds of mammal. But that's on average: ranges overlap, and the systems themselves, for all the very different means they exploit, are all startlingly alike. They all share the same limitations: they all consist of single, unrelated signals that can't join with one another to make more complex messages, can't be used outside of particular situations, can't do anything but react to some aspect of the here and now. If all species but ours get along with such systems, there can be only one reason. Other animals didn't get language because, bottom line, they didn't need language. I can hear people saying, "No, no! Their brains weren't big enough!" 111 deal with big brains in a minute. For the moment, let me point out that the following species have been proven experimentally to be capable of .leaming very rudimentary forms of language: chimpanzees, gorillas, bono-

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For instance, a generation ago the belief was widespread that language had to do with tools-with the making of tools, or perhaps the teaching of others how to make and use tools. Then we found that chimps make and use tools: sponges of leaves to soak water from hollows, trimmed sticks to fish for termites in termite mounds. Christopher Boesch showed that chimps on the Ivory Coast not only used tools to break up palm nuts but showed their children how to do it. Admittedly, their tools were pretty simple, but so were those of our ancestors more than two million years ago. If apes can do this much without language, why would we have needed such a revolutionary step to do similar things? Then there were those who claimed hunting was the decisive pres­ sure. This idea really never had the plausibility even of the tools idea. First, there's no evidence that our early ancestors hunted, except sporadically, when the opportunity arose, and even then they didn't have the weaponry to deal with anything much above rabbit size. All those fanciful pictures you see of shaggy fellows poking spears into mastodons relate to relatively recent history, probably to our own species, which is less than 200,000 years old (the last common ancestor was a minimum of five million years ago-and quite likely six or seven million). Second, lots of other species (wolves, jackals, lions) hunt coop­ eratively, and get on fine without a word between them. The clincher came when chimpanzees were observed hunting colobus monkeys. It was as if they were saying, "Hey, you go this way, III go that, Bill can block him over there while Fred cuts him off at that branch." But they weren't. They weren't saying a word, but the monkey got caught and eaten just as efficiently as if they had been. By the 1990S tools and hunting had fallen into disrepute. Now all the talk was of social intelligence. Ethological studies over the previous two decades had shown that the social intelligence of primates, particularly of our nearest relatives, the great apes, was pretty high. Apes formed alliances, played politics. They schemed with and against one another to get access to the most desirable females. They engaged in what researchers Richard Byrne and Andrew Whiten called "Machiavellian strategies," faking one another out, making phony alarm calls-in effect, lying even without words-as they struggled to enhance their status within their group. Indeed, their social life wasn't all that different from . the social life of humans. So something involving social interaction must have been the pressure that selected for language.

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Here we encounter the primate-centric bias I mentioned in the in­ duction. What researchers who took the social-intelligence route tro were doing was looking at apes, seeing what their strongest suit was, and then assuming that human ancestors just took that suit a step fur­ ther. They seemed not to see that the argument could just as easily be stood on its head. If apes were already so good at handling social rela­ tions, how could a handful of words or signs have improved their capac­ ity? Given that human societies are more complex than ape societies, was it a case of "Societies got so complex that we had to have language in order to cope with those complexities," as these researchers sug­ gested? Or was it rather a case of "We got language and that was what made our societies more complex than theirs"? The second is at least as likely to be true as the first. And in any case, we have to face the same problem we faced with tools and hunting. We're being asked to believe that language, some­ thing radically opposed to existing means of communication, came along to help our ancestors do something they already did. Variants on the "social intelligence" theme quickly diversified, and there's at least one that's coherent enough to merit discussion here. This is Robin Dunbar's "grooming and gossip" theory. Grooming, which of course includes delousing, is not just a hygienic but also a highly social activity among primates. It's what bonds primates together, enabling primate societies to run (relatively!) smoothly. But it takes time. And if the social group gets too large, grooming, necessarily a one-on­ one procedure, takes too long. You don't have time to groom everyone you need to groom and still find enough to eat. So Dunbar suggests that language evolved as a grooming substitute; you can only physically groom one person at a time, but you can verbally groom three or four at a time. And, as Dunbar points out, a lot of our day-to-day chatter con­ sists of a kind of verbal grooming-"buttering people up," as they say. Why couldn't grooming have consisted of pleasant noises, without meaning-music, in other words? Because, to be efficient, verbal grooming had to hold interest, and what's more interesting than gossip about other group members? Dunbar's students went out to study social conversation and found indeed that most of it was personal gossip. Gossip as grooming, he reasoned, was therefore the original as well as the commonest modern function of language. Dunbar's theory sounds intriguing and initially plausible. It also

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escapes the need condition that trips up so many other proposals. If he's right, and group size did increase, then protohumans were faced with a new problem that could well have required an equally novel solution. But did group size really increase among our ancestors? We don't know (yet, anyway-someone somewhere should be working on it). We don't even know, in fission-fusion societies such as chimps have and our ancestors probably had-fluid clusters that are constantly splitting and regroup­ ing-quite what group size means or how it should be measured. And there are some other problems with the theory that well touch on later. For now, all we need to note is that it fails the ten-word test, what you might call the test of immediate utility. There just aren't that many items of gossip you could pass on with ten words or fewer. And if you use most or all of your words for one particularly juicy item, say "Ug seduced your favorite female last night" (assuming, probably counter to fact, that a sentence with even this small degree of complexity could be produced and understood) what will you do for an encore? Keep repeat­ ing it? Novelty is the soul of gossip. But there's no way in which a tiny number of words can be permuted to express a wide range of new items. You'd need at least several dozen, more likely a few hundred words before you could begin to do that. But you'd never get that far unless the first few words had already had a substantial payoff.

but why it wasn't acquired by any other species. Even that isn't quite enough. It should explain why, while language has developed to an extraordinary degree of complexity in humans, there isn't a smidgen, not the least sign of it starting to develop, in any other species. Surely a unique effect requires a unique cause. But if the proposed trigger for language is anything that affects other species, it's not likely to be the right one. This immediately knocks out some otherwise promising suggestions. For instance, it's been suggested, by Geoffrey Miller among others, that the selective force driving language was female choice-a tried and trusted pressure, given the Darwinian seal of authenticity by the master himself, and confirmed in modern times by both observation and exper­ iment. It explains, for example, why peacocks have such enormous, entirely dysfunctional tails. Females like them. They figure, "If he can survive with a tail that size, he must be hot stuff." And, sure enough, if you trim a peacock's tail he doesn't score so often. Does that work for humans? Well, there's evidence on both sides. On the one hand, as songwriters Johnny Burke and Jimmy Van Heusen pointed out, "You don't have to know the language" provided that the moon is shining and the girl has that certian expression in her eyes. On the other, there's John Wilkes, eighteenth-century radical activist and notorious debauchee, whose face was ravaged by smallpox. "You're so ugly," a friend remarked, "how do you get all these women?" "Give me but half an hour with one," Wilkes replied, "and I will talk away my face." But no matter who's right (and as I wickedly pointed out in an article once, if female choice really worked with language, the captain of high school debating should score more chicks than the captain of the football team), the answer's neither here nor there. The eloquence of a Wilkes and the mumblings of a protolinguistic protohuman are apples and oranges. Nobody doubts that, once language had really and truly gotten off the ground, it could, sometimes at least, enhance the evolutionary fit­ ness of its most skilled users. The same is true for almost any language­ origins proposal, the "language is power" one for instance: leaders often owe their positions to the gift of gab, and since, as Henry Kissinger told us, powerful equals sexy, they tend to get multiple mates too. The trouble with all these explanations is, they involve things that a

TE STS T H AT T H E T H E O RY M U S T PA S S

The test of immediate utility isn't the only condition that an adequate theory of language origins has to meet. There are at least four others, and this seems as good a time as any to say what they are: • • • •

Uniqueness Ecology Credibility Selfishness

Let's look at each one in turn. Uniqueness is there because any serious theory of how language began has to explain not only why language was acquired by humans,

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wide range of species share, certainly those nearest to us. In any num..: ber of species, females determine who they'll mate with and pick those they think best. In many, probably most, primate species, individuals seek to enhance their status and scheme to obtain more power over other members of the group. If these factors operate in so many other species, why didn't they lead to language in those species, too? Moreover, none of these factors could work unless it first has some­ thing to work with. All of them, female choice, power-seeking, and the like, would surely have driven language once language had started. But how could they have started it? Female choice has to have something to choose from-in this case, presumably a whole range of different skills in using language. Seekers of power and status had to have something to seek them with; they would have to work at the high end of a range of language skills broad enough to have a high end. So none of these things could have had anything to do with the actual birth of language. The second condition-ecology-merely means that explanations of language origins mustn't conflict with what we know or can deduce about the ecology of our ancestors. That includes evidence drawn from the fossil and archaeological records, which are admittedly scanty and can seem contradictory at times. But this is no excuse for violating the ecology condition. One thing that amazes me about the language evolution field is how often people ignore this condition. Primate-centrists are the worst cul­ prits. Since apes make such convenient and accessible models, and since we share so much of their DNA, primate-centrists assume proto­ humans must have behaved pretty much as modern apes do. If there seem to be big differences now, well, recent civilization has just made us don disguises and draw veils over our basic ape nature. As we'll see in chapter 6, that's a long way from the truth. Our remote ancestors may not have been much smarter than their ape cousins, but they lived in dramatically different environments and made their living in completely different ways. Unless you believe in univer­ sally uniform genes that impose identical behaviors wherever they occur-something modern biology has decisively refuted-you have to realize that partially arboreal, forest-dwelling apes make pretty poor models for the ways in which protohumans behaved. As for the third condition, credibility . . .

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It's London, spring of 1998, the Second International Conference on the Evolution of Language. First thing to hit me was the cropped can­ nonball head and unapologetic London accent of the sociologist Chris Knight, asking without any preamble whatsoever: "What does your theory have to say about the problem of cheap signals?" "Er . . . duh," I riposted eloquently. I was coldcocked and blind sided. Cheap signals? What the hell were they? But Chris knows what he's talking about, so I boned up fast, and this is the problem. In the 1970S game theory began to be applied to biology. Wouldn't it be the case that in a population where each individual strove for its own genetic success, there'd be payoffs for cheats and deceivers? Animals that exaggerated their prowess as potential mates might thereby gain access to breeding opportunities they'd never get through honesty. How could any animal know that the signals she was receiving really meant what they seemed to mean? The Israeli biologist Amotz Zahavi came up with an answer. The harder a signal is to fake, the more likely it is genuine. Anyone can per­ form a fancy strut for a while, but to permanently carry around a pea­ cock's tail or the spread of a stag's antlers suggests that their owner really is strong enough to sire sturdy children. In other words, signals had to be costly to be credible. People like Chris were quick to pick up the implications of this for language. Words are notoriously easy to produce. Everyday speech is full of remarks to this effect: "Talk is cheap"; "He talks the talk, but does he walk the walk?"; "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me." Words are cheap tokens, so why should anyone believe them? This thought could not help but resonate at a time when, with Byrne and Whiten's "Machiavellian strategies" center stage, ev­ eryone knew that primates in particular were adept at deceiving one another, even before words came along. But if no one would believe words, whence came the impetus to make up first tens, then hundreds, then thousands of the things? Like the utility condition, the credibility condition strikes hardest at the very earliest stage of language, and suggests that, at this stage, lan­ guage could never have gotten off the ground if the content of its first

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words couldn't be verified immediately and beyond doubt. This, among other things, puts another nail in the coffin of the grooming and gossip theory-even today, we don't believe half the gossip we hear. Finally, selfishness. Over the last half of the last century, biologists shifted from believing that, at least sometimes, organisms did things for "the good of the species" or "the good of the group" to believing that everything every organism did was for itself, or at best for the genes it shared with close kin. The first point of view, known as "group selection­ ism," quickly became a scientific no-no, inviting obloquy and scorn in equal proportions, though nowadays it's slowly beginning to inch its way back in. (It's fascinating to watch these cyclic to-and-fros in science, like the rise and fall of hemlines, but more stimulating, intellectually at least.) But it's too early yet to junk selfish genes. What look like behaviors "for the good of the species" may well turn out to be purely self-serving behaviors that happen, quite incidentally, to benefit the species as a whole. Dubious though it may be when pushed too far, the selfish gene notion has lit up too many areas of behavior to be lightly tossed aside. So consider any linguistic act from this perspective. A gives informa­ tion to B. Before the act, that information belonged to A exclusively. A could have exploited it for Ks own benefit. Now that's not possible. B can exploit it too. What does A get out of this? If the answer is "noth­ ing," or even a negative payoff-A has to split a favorite tidbit with B­ why should A transmit the information in the first place? If the answer is "B will repay the favor," what guarantee does A have that B will recip­ rocate, won't prove a cheat? In other words, the first linguistic acts, whatever they were, must have been such that the speaker derived (at least!) as much benefit from them as the hearer did.

TH E B I G - BRAIN FA L LACY

Having reviewed the four tests-uniqueness, ecology, credibility, and selfishness-that any candidate theory of language evolution must pass, let's dispose of the theory that as brains got bigger, our ancestors got cleverer and cleverer until they finally became clever enough to invent language.

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This, in some form or other, is widely believed by many highly qual­ ified scientists. For instance, in a recent interview, Nina Jablonski, who is not only head of anthropology at Penn State, but also, according to The New York Times, "a primatologist, an evolutionary biologist and a paleontologist," explained that "in order to survive in the equatorial sun, [early humans] needed to cool their brains. Early humans evolved an increased number of sweat glands for that purpose, which in turn per­ mitted their brain size to expand. As soon as we developed larger brains, our planning capacity increased, and this allowed people to disperse out of Africa." What's wrong with this eminently plausible-sounding story? Lots of things. One, plenty of animals survive in the equatorial sun without increasing the number of their sweat glands. Two, permitting brain size to expand is not the same as obliging brain size to expand. Jablonski makes it sound as if brains were just bursting to expand but were held down by dumb stuff like inability to sweat properly. That's far from true. Brains are highly expensive in terms of energy; animals have brains just big enough to do what they have to do, and anything over that is dys­ functional. Three, no one, to the best of my knowledge, has ever shown a correlation between brain size and planning capacity, for any species, least of all for species ancestral to humans, about whose planning capac­ ities we know zero. Four, you don't need any special planning capacity to get from one continent to another. All you need is a land bridge and feet-thousands of species have done it, most notably the placental predators of North America who, as soon as Central America was in place, exterminated the indigenous marsupial species of South America. A dog has a bigger brain than a frog, and a dog can do lots more things than a frog can. This can only be because its bigger brain makes it smarter, you might suppose. However, a quarter century ago, the Scottish psychologist Euan Macphail wrote a paper that no one could challenge but everyone could and did ignore, which claimed that when you considered not the range of things animals could do but the actual mental apparatus with which they did them, there were only three lev­ els of intelligence. There were organisms that could associate a stimulus with a response. There were organisms that could in addition associate a stimulus with another stimulus; all vertebrates and even some inverte­ brates fell into this class. And there were humans, who happened to --l

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have language. Macphail didn't know how language made us more intelligent, but you will, if you read to the end of this book. What is intelligence, anyway? Before we could compare the intelli­ gence of one species with another, we'd have to have a valid definition and a valid measure that, unlike IQ, would work across species. Nobody has yet produced one. So even if there were more differences between the intelligence of species than Macphail claimed, there's no way we could show by any non subjective means that one species was smarter or more stupid than another species. If, as some have claimed, language was an invention of folk with big brains, it would be doubly unique. In addition to being the only system of its kind in nature, it would be the only biologically based behavior that had ever been consciously and deliberately created. And if you believe we can deliberately create biologically based behaviors, I have a couple of bridges you might contemplate purchasing. But the real clincher is this. Brains don't grow by themselves, of their own volition; they grow because animals need more brain cells and con­ nections to more effectively carry out any new things they are beginning to do. In other words, brain-size increase doesn't drive innovation­ innovation drives brain-size increase, and in chapter 5 I'll show you in detail how the process works, courtesy of the new and exciting theory called niche construction (it's changed my whole way of looking at evo­ lution, as I hope it will change yours). It follows that we didn't get a bigger and better brain that then gave us language; we got language and that gave us a bigger and better brain.

Stay calm, folks. We have language and sure enough it evolved, despite all the seemingly insuperable obstacles that lay in its path. But I've made one thing pretty plain, you may think. It can't have evolved, as most biologists would claim, from some prior means of communication, some ACS of the last common ancestor that . . . somehow . . . gradually . . . got modified . . . or something. It must have evolved from . . . well, from something else. What, exactly? Well . . . it's hard to say . . . but something. That's exactly what I thought fifteen, twenty years ago. And until relatively recently, for that matter. After all, I was the guy who produced the continuity paradox: "Language must have evolved out of some prior system, and yet there does not seem to be any such system out of which it could have evolved." Then how did it evolve? In my earlier work I talked about mental representation systems-maps of the outside world and everything in it-that grew in the brain, over countless millions of years and thou­ sands of species, till they got detailed enough to divide up the world into word-sized bits, just waiting to be given their lexical labels. Once these bits-prelinguistic concepts-were ready, then in some rather ill­ defined way, connected somehow with protohuman foraging strategies, a protolanguage, quite different and separate from the protohuman ACS, just somehow popped out. After which, a handy mutation turned protolanguage into language. Blame it on the rashness of youth (after all, I was only sixty-four at the time). And it wasn't that bad for a first try. Language and Species was the first book I know of that tried to work through the whole process of language evolution with some degree of detail and depth. The problem was I didn't have a good framework. Niche construction theory hadn't been developed. When I didn't know something, I filled the gap with what the philosopher Daniel Dennett calls "figment" (as in "figment of the imagination"). And I didn't do what I'm doing here: working through the precise relationship between human and nonhuman com­ munication systems in what I'm sure is excruciating detail (sorry about that, but any serious study is like athletic training-no pain, no gain). Reactions to what I had written seemed only to confirm my posi­ tion, at least as far as the continuity paradox was concerned (biologists wouldn't swallow the mutation, and they were right not to, of course). I

SO H O W COU L D LANGUAG E H AV E EVOLV E D ?

B y this time you may b e thinking, Well, how could language have evolved, anyway? How could anything have met all the conditions I've described to you? You may even be thinking, Hey, maybe it didn't evolve. Maybe Intelligent Designers are right after all; maybe it was a magical gift from above, sprung ready-made from Jove's brow, inexpli­ cable (as some have suggested) by any human brain. Or maybe we're in something like The Matrix, and the whole thing is a colossal illusion­ we don't really have language, we just think we do.

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hadn't expected that I'd stop people from believing in continuity, but what did surprise me was that they went on believing without even try­ ing to refute my arguments; blind faith is far commoner in science than we like to admit. So I was not, in any sense of the word, converted by continuists. I converted myself. It came through trying to think like a biologist. This is not all that easy for people from other fields. What makes interdisciplinary work so hard is that any academic discipline acts like a straitjacket, forcing you to look only in certain directions, blocking other perspectives from view. It takes a good deal of conscious effort, plus a lot of soaking yourself in other people's literature, to overcome this state of affairs. The process was speeded up by my encounter with niche construc­ tion theory, which made sense of a lot of things that had baffled me. I started to rethink the continuity paradox. Suppose, just suppose, that one took an engineering perspective and started asking whether there was anything in an ACS you might plausibly change that would make it more languagelike. If there was, the next question was whether that thing might plausibly arise through constructing a particular kind of niche. If it could, the next question was: Was there such a niche in human prehistory? The rest of this book is about the answers to these questions.

2

THIN KIN G LIKE EN G IN EERS

S E T T I N G T H E BAR

Let's pretend we're language engineers, given the task of providing an alingual species with language. We have to work on a species that has only a standard, average pri­ mate ACS. We have to get that species not to full language-that will have to come a lot later-but to something that points away from an ACS, in a direction that could plausibly lead to language. It doesn't have to be a giant step. Better by far if it's a small step, because the smaller the step that has to be made, the more plausible it will be from the stand­ point of evolution. But before we can make a start, we have to know where we're headed. We have to look at language and what it does that an ACS can't do. A lot of people have tried to do this, but they've set the bar too high. They compare an ACS with the kind of language that all of us speak today. And they point to evidence like the fact that language consists of three quite clearly distinct levels. Autonomous levels, they call them, which simply means that although all the levels interact whenever we speak, each abides by its own set of rules, each set being different from the other two sets. There's a level of meaningless sounds: phonology. Not one of the sounds we use in language means anything, in and of itself. But they're not meaningless in the way grunts or coughs or sneezes are meaningless. Put a grunt and a cough and a sneeze together, and what have you got? A head cold? Well, nothing that means anything. Put two or three

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speech sounds together, and what you've got might be a word. Po­ tentially, at least-to find out whether it is or not, you've got to go up to level z. That's the level of meaningful sound sequences: morphology. That means words, and those bits of things we tack onto words, all the uns and dises and ings and eds that are meaningful too, but only when attached to a word stem. Now we can provide names for things, or to be more precise, names for classes of things-"dog" doesn't mean this dog or those dogs, it means just a particular kind of animal. Except for one­ word exclamations-"Help!," "Fire!," and the like-we still really can't say anything that means very much. For that, we've got to go up again, to level 3. That's the level of meaningful utterances: syntax. You may mean, but you can't mean much until you start to put words together into phrases, clauses, sentences. But once you can do a sentence, you're home free. There's literally no limit to what you can produce­ paragraphs, pages, essays, books, encyclopedias . . . Given the rules of syntax, you can go on churning out language from here to kirigdom come. Now when you see this degree of complexity (and I've only skimmed the surface; each level has its own awe-inspiring convolu­ tions) your only rational reaction is to throw up your hands and say, like the Maine farmer: "You can't get there from here!" Well, that was funny the first time around, but the Maine farmer was full of his own cows' product. You can get from anywhere to anywhere, with the right map. And the right map for this particular bit of country is only now going to be unfolded. If you insist on comparing ACSs with language as it is today, you're just setting yourself up for a fall. There's a much better model to hand.

read my book Bastard Tongues. For now, it's enough to know that you yourself may well have pioneered an incipient pidgin, if on vacation in a place where you didn't speak the language you've struggled to com­ municate your needs to people and they've struggled back to try to make you understand them. The only reason your makeshift efforts didn't evolve into a full-fledged pidgin is that it was just you and a couple of other people over a period of days. If it had involved most people in the same community over a period of years, those efforts would have resulted in a true pidgin, as sure as puppies turn into dogs. Think back to what you did. You used any words of the other per­ son's language you happened to know, but you didn't put them together in any systematic way. Why not? You might well say, "I didn't know how, in that language." Sure, but what was to stop you from putting them together the way you did in your own language? Partly the fact that they were, in every sense, "foreign words" -they were foreign to you, you had to grope for them, so they popped out one at a time, with big gaps in between while you went looking for the next. Partly because you didn't know all the words you would have needed even for the sim­ plest sentence. You went with what you'd got; when you couldn't think of a word, you used one out of your own language, or some other lan­ guage you might know, and hoped the other fellow might know or guess what you meant. And if that still didn't work, you pointed or ges­ tured or mimed. You used anything at all that might work. That's the nearest you or I or anyone will ever come to feeling what things were like at the dawn of language. Still a long way, since it's as hard for us to forget that we already have language as it is for a jury to heed the judge's admonition, "Forget anything you may have read or heard about this case." But it helps. If you've had this particular foreign­ travel experience, pause a moment here to savor the memory of it. Not everyone thinks I'm right about this. Dan Slobin, a psycho­ lingUist (that doesn't mean a linguist who's psycho, it means one who studies the relations between language and human psychology) at the University of California, Berkeley, thinks a pidgin is not necessarily a good model for early stages of language. He points to the fact that people who create a pidgin already have at least one full human lan­ guage, whereas the protohumans who started language clearly didn't. Now I have great respect for Dan when he's on his own turf, which

P I DG I N S F LY TO T H E RESCU E

I had the great good luck to come to language evolution from the study of pidgins and creoles. A pidgin is what people produce when they have to talk to other people but don't have a common language. If you want to know more,

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is how children acquire their first language. And he's right insofar as the difference he brings up is a real one. But to clinch an argument, it's never enough just to point to a difference. You have to explain why this particular difference makes a difference. Most differences don't. There are big birds and small birds, birds that fly and birds that don't, but a bird is a bird and we all know one when we see one. The same is equally true of any variety of what, for want of a better word, we'll call protolanguage (not to be confused with protolanguages, which are the hypothesized real-language ancestors of existing language families-Indo-European, for example-and seldom more than five thousand years old). Protolanguage is not true language, but it's made up of languagelike elements. Since I introduced the notion in my 1990 book Language and Species, it's been accepted by most researchers in the field that the emergence of language as we know it had to be pre­ ceded by something intermediate between true language and an ACS, and (by at least some of those researchers) that things similar to this intermediate can still be seen in the world around us-in pidgins, in the speech of the brain-damaged or of infants, or the productions of apes that have been taught various forms of signing. In determining whether something qualifies as protolanguage, what matters is not whether you (its speaker) do or don't have a language already; what matters is whether or not you're in the same situation, that of having to communicate without a proper language to communicate in. Now the content of protolanguage, what you actually say with it, will vary depending on who's using it-on whether that's a pidgin speaker, or a Broca's aphasic, or a "language-trained" ape, or a child younger than two, or a protohuman at the very dawn of language. What won't vary at all will be certain limitations-purely formal, structural limitations-on how you can express that content. Regardless of who or what you are, even of what species you belong to, these limita­ tions will reduce you (if you already have a language) or exalt you (if you don't yet have one) to short and shapeless and disconnected utterances. If you're a human speaking a pidgin, the pieces that the pidgin is built with will be ready-made words from one language or another. If you're a protohuman pioneering language, they won't be. If you're a human speaking a pidgin, bits of the syntax of your own language may pop up here and there, although that's unlikely in the early stages, when

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41

you won't be fluent enough even to cannibalize your original language. If you're a protohuman pioneering language, there'll be no bits there to pop up. But in both cases, there won't be anything you could call struc­ ture. No third level, because you have no rules, and if you have no rules, you have no syntax. No second level, because although you have words, those words have no internal structure and so can't be broken down into bits like anti-dis-establish-ment-arian-ism ("opposition to the with­ drawal of government support from a state-sponsored church") or given inflections to indicate things like tense or number. Just one level, where what you see is what you get. But it's still not down to the level of an ACS. Protolanguage and lan­ guage share one big thing that ACSs uniformly lack. Combinability.

O N LY C O N N ECT ( I F YOU'VE GOT ANYT H I N G T O CONN ECT WITH)

Languages combine lawfully and protolanguages combine lawlessly. In other words, languages have all kinds of constraints on what you may put together with what; protolanguages don't. Where things can be put together, languages have rules about which goes first; for instance, adjective before noun in English, noun before adjective in French. (Yes, I know we say "court-martial," not "martial court," and the French for "good luck" is bonne chance, not chance bonne, but these are exceptions that go against the grain of the language.) Pidgins and other forms of protolanguage don't have such rules. You can put anything with any­ thing, in any order, provided that the combination is meaningful in some way. But the bottom line is, you can still combine. ACSs can't. So far as we know, yet. And I would say that no matter how long or how hard we look, we'll never find an ACS that can com­ bine stuff. In a moment we'll see why. To find animals that can indeed combine communicative stuff is the Holy Grail for those who believe that ACSs segued seamlessly into language-strong continuists, let's call them. Such a discovery would mean that those animals had a true precursor of syntax, and syntax is believed by some to be the only uniquely human part of language.

A D A M'S T O N G UE

T H I N K I N G L I KE E N G I NEERS

Consequently, a true precursor of syntax would be a stunning defeat for the "language is something completely different" crowd. Needless to say, any number of ACSs have been searched and researched for the slightest trace of such a precursor. The latest candidate will give you some idea of how desperate this search is getting. Diana monkeys and Campbell's monkeys are two species of African monkeys that inhabit the same territory. Both species give alarm calls on the approach of predators, and Diana monkeys respond to Campbell's monkeys' alarm calls just as readily as to those of their own species. With one difference: sometimes a Campbell's monkey will preface its call with what is known as a "boom" vocalization, a brief low-pitched sound that occurs, on average, about thirty seconds before the alarm. Boom-preceded calls usually relate to some fairly distant predator or to some unexplained event that might mean danger of some kind. When Diana monkeys hear a boom-prefaced call, they seldom respond, and usually go on with whatever they're doing. Klaus Zuberbiihler, a researcher at the University of St. Andrews in Scotland who discovered this behavior and tested it experimentally, wisely hedges on whether it really is syntactic. What's puzzling is why anyone would think it might be. In the first place, something that involves two separate species is not very good evidence for what's sup­ posed to be happening in just one of them. In the second, a receptive skill-ability to determine the meaning of a sequence-is no guarantee of an equivalent productive skill-ability to actually combine things. But it's mostly the kind of relationship between the two units, the boom and the alarm, that makes this a dubious precursor for any kind of syntax. Zuberbiihler says that the booms "act as a modifier" to the alarms. Not so; they don't modify them, but cancel them out. Do you know of any language with a word that means "Please disregard the next word"? I don't. Typically in any combination of two language units, be they words, phrases, or clauses, one unit truly "modifies" the other by mak­ ing its meaning more precise:

Male monkeys mate when they see the typical female swelling (not just any old time, like us).

42

The English teacher (not just any old teacher). Shake well before opening (if you do it afterward, you11 get it all over your shirt).

43

This is what I was talking about just now when I said that a combi­ nation, whether linguistic or protolinguistic, had to be meaningful in some way. This is the way-taking something (a subject) and saying something about it (a predicate). Predication is one of the most basic and fundamental processes in language. Syntax may not have any ani­ mal precursors, but predication surely was the precursor of syntax. If units couldn't first combine on the basis of meaning, they'd never have gotten to where they could combine on a structural basis. So the next question becomes, if units of language and protolan­ guage can combine, and units of ACSs can't, why is this? Is it just hap­ penstance? Are the animals not as smart as us? Or is there a principled reason why they can't, one that makes looking for syntactic precursors among animals a waste of time?

A N I MA L WO R D S ?

The search for syntactic precursors mightn't be such a waste of time if animal calls were, in fact, precursors of words. That's the other Holy Grail hard-line continuists seek for: things in animal communication that are precursors of true words. The best can­ didates so far are the alarm calls of monkeys, especially the most thor­ oughly researched of these: calls made by the vervet monkey of East Africa. Indeed, the poor vervets must by now be heartily sick of being dragged in every time anyone writes about language evolution. As we saw above, more than one species of monkey give predator alarm calls. The vervets' calls are just more varied than most. They have a call for eagles, a call for leopards, and a call for snakes. Why can't we say that these calls are in effect the vervet "words" for eagle, leopard, snake? Because, as I pointed out in chapter I, while any word can be used in the absence of what it refers to, no animal call can. Even if a call is used deceptively, to distract aggressors or secure a tasty tidbit, those who hear the call have to assume that a predator's really there. If they don't, the ruse won't work. We may choose to call this "meaning," but

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it's quite different from the way words in any human language work. Realizing this, some people have chosen to call it "functional reference." That's a way of saying, well, words refer fully, in the sense that you can use them in meaningful ways regardless of whether what they refer to is there or not. But since the leopard call isn't used for anything other than leopards, it has the effect of drawing attention to leopards, and thus dis­ charges the most basic function of reference, which is to pick something out and direct your attention to it. However, there's a function more important than reference that these calls perform, and that's eliciting a specific response from the hearer, as follows: Eagle call: look at the sky, get ready to hide in the bushes. Leopard call: look around, get near a tree you can climb real quick. Snake call: look down at the ground all around you. Do these sound like the names of different animals? If we try to translate them into humanese, the animal's name may not even be included in the translation. Take the eagle call. Does it translate as "Look out, an eagle is coming!" or "Danger from the air!" or "Quick, find the nearest bush and hide in it!"? Any of these three seems more efficient, more functional, than simply "eagle." (Note that even here, the potential ambiguity is not the same as the ambiguity sometimes found in words. Ambiguous words mean totally dif­ ferent things. A "bank" is either a place where money is kept or the side of a river; "rape" is either a violent sexual act or a commercial crop. But trans­ lations of animal calls represent various possible interpretations of the same thing. Remember this; it will become important in the next chapter.) What do my three translations of the eagle call have in common? They are all complete utterances-complete in themselves. How does the word "eagle" differ from that? It isn't complete in itself. It tells us something, but not enough. Is there an eagle here right now, or are you talking about yesterday, or the chance well meet one tomorrow? Are you making a general statement about eagles, or a particular statement about one eagle, or just listing . major bird species? It could mean any or all or none of the above.

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45

For me to know what you're talking about, you have to predicate. You have to combine "eagle" with some other word or words that will tell me which of the many possible things you mean. But for me to know what an alarm call means, you don't have to predicate. The call is enough. I'm up the tree or into the bushes already. Now we can see why signals in ACSs are never combined. It would make no sense to combine them. They're not words that have to be combined to form a particular meaning. They're specific responses to specific situations, complete in themselves, and more than that, they're responses that have had, in the past, a demonstrated capac­ ity to improve the fitness of those that used them. If those responses hadn't produced longer lives and more offspring for their users, evolu­ tion would have erased them. It's not that animals are too dumb to put things together. Just that the calls and signs and all the other things they communicate with weren't designed to be put together. And if you did put them together, one wouldn't "modify" the other; together, they would mean exactly what they meant separately. One wouldn't change or affect the other in any way. This hasn't always been apparent to everyone. In 1964 the journal Current Anthropology published an article called "The Human Revo­ lution," by Charles Hockett, one of the leading linguists back then, and his colleague Robert Ascher; the journal thought so highly of this article that it was reprinted, unchanged, twenty-eight years later. (Until 1990 or thereabouts, the pace of change in language evolution studies was, indeed, glacial.) Hockett's intuition was that language began when some protohuman, encountering a situation in which there was both food and danger, blended the food call with the danger call. Then this, the first combination of meaningful units, led to more of the same, and language was up and running. Hockett's analysis ignores the following facts: Words combine as separate units-they never blend. They're atoms, not mudballs. To a naive animal, a blended call would probably be meaningless. Even if the blend had been interpreted, how could it have made sense? If it had been a predication, there are only two possibilities: "Dangerous food"? Unlikely; danger calls, as we've seen, at least

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roughly specify the source of the danger without further addition. No animal I've ever heard of has an alarm call for poisonous substances. "Edible danger"? Come on! All the blended call could have meant was, "There is food, but there is also danger." But, just as I said, this is no more than the sum of what the two calls mean in isolation. As such, it would have moved us not one inch closer to anything you might call language. The dream of strong continuists is to find precursors of words and precursors of syntax among other species. That would be the easiest and most obvious way to establish true continuity between ACSs and lan­ guage. But it isn't the right way, simply because while words (or manual signs, or any similar kind of linguistic unit) have little meaning until they're combined with other words, animal calls (or any other ACS units) mean no more when they're combined than they mean in isolation. So why would any animal in its right mind even want to combine them? It's a waste of time looking among other species for precursors of words or precursors of syntax, because animal communication was not designed by evolution as an inferior substitute for language. It wasn't · that animals were slowly and stumblingly trying to get nearer to lan­ guage, but didn't quite know how. What we've been looking at as if they were ACS limitations are really only limitations from our own peculiar perspective. For other animals, ACSs do their job just fine. It was only some aberrant ancestor of ours that needed something a little different (and got much, much more than it had bargained for). So if we want to demonstrate real continuity in evolution, we should be looking not for linguistic precursors, but for some point of flexibility in ACSs, some point where the right selective pressure could force a dis­ tortion that might ultimately lead to the creation of words, and, later on, the creation of syntax. Because these things-words and syntax-are total evolutionary novelties, things useless and meaningless outside lan­ guage. Things whose like had not been produced by evolution in all the three-billion-plus years it had been working-not because, in all those years, evolution had "failed to produce language," but because it had succeeded in producing something wholly different from language. Not some poor limping thing longing to be language, but a tool that served the needs of its users perfectly well. Talk about primate-centric-people who look for precursors of lan-

guage are homocentric. Instead of looking at communication objec­ tively, from a neutral perspective, they seem like they're strangled by language-locked into the worldview of one rather peculiar species.

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E S C A P E FROM H E RE, E S C A P E F RO M NOW

To find where ACSs are flexible, we must yet again compare them with language-not so we can disparage them, but so as to better understand the very different ways in which they work. One of the things ACSs don't do but language does is refer to any­ thing that isn't right there, at the moment you make the call, immedi­ ately within the range of your senses. Once more we must ask the question: Is this accidental or is there a principled reason that things are the way they are, and not otherwise? Philosophers of language might say, it's because the signs of ACSs are indexical, not symbolic. An indexical sign is one that points directly at its referent. Vervet predator warnings are good examples of indexical signs. A symbolic sign, however, can stand in place of its referent, even when that referent is thousands of miles away or thousands of years back in history. But this just names the difference; it doesn't explain it. We could ask, why are ACS signs indexical, rather than symbolic? But a more revealing question would be, which comes uppermost, the informative or the manipulative? We must tread carefully here. All communicative acts are informative, in some sense, and in that sense both ACSs and language are both informative and manipulative. Body language-part of the human ACS-is informative; if in spite of your placatory words your body lan­ guage shows me that you're angry, that's information, a kind of informa­ tion I wouldn't have had if you hadn't used body language to express your anger. Similarly, any linguistic act can be manipulative; a purely factual statement about the weather could be aimed at convincing you to stay home with me, rather than go out with someone else. So it would be easy, and true, even if quite uninformative, to say: ACSs are both inform­ ative and manipulative, and so is language. What's the difference? The difference is that an ACS is primarily manipulative and only

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ADAM'S TONGUE

T HI N K I N G L I K E E N G I N E ER S

secondarily informative, whereas language is primarily informative and only secondarily manipulative. ACSs may provide information, but that information is merely a by­ product. Their primary function is to get you to do things that enhance my fitness. (If they enhance your fitness too, you're just lucky. ) But if ACSs are designed to respond to situations and manipulate other indi­ viduals, you can see why they have to be bound to the here and now. You can't respond to a situation that's distant in time or space (at least you couldn't until they invented TV). You can't manipulate somebody who isn't there, or do it at any time other than the immediate present. What looks to us like a limitation is, in ACS terms, simply a logical necessity. Language, however, puts information first and manipulation sec­ ond. Suppose I were to explain to you Einstein's theory of relativity, or Chomsky's theory of a biologically based language organ. My purpose in giving you this information might well be that of impressing you or even ultimately mating with you (although anyone who could be induced to mate by such means would have to be pretty weird). But I would be trying to manipulate you by means of information rather than just inadvertently giving you information in the course of manipu­ lating you. It follows that language doesn't need to be bound by the here and now. Information (whether used to manipulate or not) can be about things that have already happened or things that might happen but haven't done so yet. It can be about things before your very eyes, but it's much more likely to be about things that aren't, because an important­ maybe the most important-feature of information is its novelty. In most contexts, old information is plain boring. (The big exception is bonding, whether of lovers or party members-have you ever heard a politician's speech that contained anything you hadn't heard umpteen times already?) In contrast, ACSs endlessly repeat the same old signs for the same old situations-novelty would be disruptive, dysfunctional. And if the situations weren't ones that repeated endlessly, evolution would never have gotten around to making signs for them. By now it should be clear why ACS units are indexical and language units are symbolic. ACS units are indexical because they're designed to manipulate oth-

ers. Those others have to be right there in the present time at the pres­ ent place if they're going to be manipulated. So even if information is exchanged, it can only be information about the here and now. Language units are symbolic because they're designed to convey information. Information can be past, present, or future, here, there, or anywhere. But to the extent-a very considerable extent-that its value lies in its novelty, it had better not be about the here and now. But this, of course, is no help at all in explaining how anything could have come to be symbolic in the first place.

WH I C H WAY TO T H E RU B I C O N ?

A decade ago, Terrence Deacon (then at Boston University, now at UC Berkeley) published a widely acclaimed book called The Symbolic Species. In it he claimed that what most sharply distinguished humans from other species was the capacity to create and use symbols. In reviewing it, I said I thought he was wrong and that the really distinc­ tive thing was syntax. And later on, we debated the whole thing pub­ licly, twice (in Seattle and in Eugene, Oregon). But quite recently I came to the conclusion he was right and I was wrong-about symbol­ ism versus syntax, at least. Certainly, the reason I criticized his book was not the right one. The right one, as I now see with the twenty-twenty vision of hindsight, was that he didn't deliver on his implied promise. There are chapters and chapters on why animals don't get symbols and why we must have got­ ten them in order to have become the kind of creatures we are. But there's nothing about how we got symbolic words. About how we got symbolism, sure: it was through ritual. And which ritual, in particular? Would you believe marriage?! No, to be fair to Terry, he wasn't suggesting that the first words were "Do you take this woman . . ." He had in fact what was a rather good argument, at least from an anthropological perspective. It was that among prehumans, where men went off to get meat and women stayed close to home collecting the veggies, there was always the chance some guy would sneak back and mate with your mate. Since the meat you brought back was to share with her and her children, you ran a substan-

50

51

A D A M ' S TO N G U E

T H I N K I N G L I K E E N G I N E ER S

tial risk that all your efforts would go to promote your cuckolder's genes at the expense of your own, So, to avoid all the stresses and strains, jeal­ ousies and conflicts, that would result, some form of generally accepted pair-bonding ceremony had to evolve, And indeed, marriage of some sort seems to be universal in human societies (though I doubt it reduces promiscuity all that much). But the nearest Terry got to explaining how symbolism went from (admittedly wordless) rituals to actual words was to claim that although "vocalizations" were found along with all these "ritual gestures, activi­ ties and objects," "probably not until Homo erectus were the equivalents of words available." How did they become "available"? How did any­ thing get to mean anything? Not a word. Yet I'm convinced now that Terry was right in his main contention, that symbolism was the Rubicon that had to be crossed for our ances� tors to start becoming human. I had argued for syntax because, while trained apes could be taught things that in meaning were roughly equiv­ alent to words, and while they could (apparently without much if any­ thing in the way of further instruction) string these words together into a kind of protolanguage, they'd never acquired anything you could call syntax, even though, in at least one experiment, simple elements of syn­ tax had been explicitly taught to them. But syntax, I began to realize, may have become possible only because two million years of protolan­ guage use brought about significant changes in its user's brain. If that was so, it was ridiculous to treat something apes never had a chance to get to as the main distinction between them and us. It made far more sense, as Deacon had proposed, to see the main distinction as arising at the very beginning of language-at the first step, the creation of sym­ bols, that set the whole process in motion. For if it's useless to look for precursors of words, or precursors of syntax, there's nothing left to do but look at the units found in ACSs and see if there are any, anywhere, that might, under special circumstances, take on at least one of the properties that symbolic units-words, or the signs of manual sign languages-possess. And as we have seen, the most salient characteristic of symbols is that they can refer to things outside of the here and now. This capacity is something linguists generally refer to as "displacement." So let's review Marc Hauser's tripartite division of ACS units into

social signals, mating signals, and survival signals. Which of these classes is the likeliest to contain something capable of displacement? We can quickly dispose of the first two. Social signals wouldn't be social if they didn't involve manipulating the actions of other group members, something that can only be done in the here and now. Mating signals, apart from those that merely indicate species, sex, and/or avail­ ability, consist of advertisements of the fine genetic stock the advertiser comes from-displays of fine feathers, aerobatic skills, capacity to bear handicaps, ability to defeat rivals, or whatever. These qualities can only be exhibited in the present; there's no way any animal can convey any equivalent of "I may look a bit run-down at the moment, but you should have seen me last week." This leaves us with survival signals, which again fall into two broad classes: alarm calls and food calls. Alarm calls we have already dealt with at length, and seen that they are inextricably linked to the appearance of predators or at least their presumed appearance (presumed by both caller and receivers if the caller mistakenly believes there's a predator there, and by the receivers even if the caller is lying to them). Food calls are mostly immediate reactions to the discovery of a food source, intended to be audible (or if signed, visible) to group members in the immediate vicinity. None of these is a likely candidate for displacement. However, suppose that the food was some distance away from any other group member, and suppose that a measurable length of time had to elapse between the discovery of a particular food source and the transmis­ sion of news about that discovery to other animals. If any animal signal could be used in this kind of situation, wouldn't it qualify as an escape from the prison of the here and now, the first true case of displacement?

KI N D S O F S I G N S

Surely it might. But what kind of signal would it have to be? So far, I've only mentioned two kinds: indexical and symbolic. But symbols can't just pop out of the woodwork; unknown in any known ACS, they would have to be worked for and won in the earliest stage of proto­ language . And indices are irredeemably bound to the here and now, since they must point directly at whatever they refer to.

52

A D A M ' S T O N G UE

Fortunately, there is a third class, the iconic. An iconic sign is some­ thing that resembles what it refers to-in some way. It can be a part of the thing referred to, or a picture of it (or of part of it), or the noise it makes-anything that somehow evokes an object in the real world (or even an abstract class, as symbols do, it turns out). I'm going to treat these three-icon, index, symbol-quite differ­ ently from the way Deacon treats them in The Symbolic Species. Ac­ cording to him, they form a hierarchy: icons at the bottom, indices in the middle, symbols at the top. Once or twice, when I've been thinking sloppily, I've endorsed this view. But viewed from the perspective of displacement, they're not a hierarchy at all. First of all, Ids make it quite clear that not all words are symbols. Words can be iconic. There's nothing in "dog" or "cat" that, in and of itself, evokes those particular animals. But words like "buzz" and "hiss�' evoke by mimicry the sounds they describe. Moreover, "buzz" doesn't necessarily refer to a particular noise on a particular occasion, in the way that iconic signs in ACSs do. A bristling of the fur is an iconic sign that can only mean a particular animal is angry at a particular place and time, but "buzz" may be applied indiscriminately, to refer to the noise made by the particular bee that's bugging you right now or the generic noise that bees, wasps, beetles, and other insects habitually make-even the simi­ lar noise a crowd of people in animated conversation makes. Words can be indexical. "This" and "that" are used exclusively to point to particular objects in the world. Unfortunately, they're not very informative and can only be used if their referents have been established in the course of previous speech or writing, but they clearly can't stand in for a specific class of real-world things, like "dogs" or "tables," in the way a symbolic word can. Then there are all the grammatical items that are also words: "the," "a," "who," "not," "by," "for," "of," and so on. These, unlike icons, indices, and symbols, do not even refer; they merely establish relation­ ships between words that do refer. So a simple statement like "Words are symbols" just doesn't cut it. It remains true, however, that most words are symbolic, and that without symbolic words we couldn't have language. So here it comes, the question that The Symbolic Species never answered (or even asked, come to that)-where did symbolic words come from? Well, think back to "buzz" and "hiss." Compare these:

T H I N K I N G L I KE E N G I NEERS

53

There's a mosquito buzzing in my ear. Nothing is more irritating than a buzzing sound. In the first, there's a particular buzzing in the here and now. In the second, there may be, but there needn't be-I could say this in reacting to a story about something that happened years ago. In talking about symbolism and words, people often make far too much of arbitrari­ ness-the absence of any relationship between a word's form and its meaning. You almost feel there's some kind of class distinction in there-up top are the symbolic words, words whose meaning you couldn't possibly guess, and underneath the second-class citizens, words that shamelessly wear their meanings on their sleeves. But just as members of all social classes share the same bodily functions, so sym­ bolic and iconic words share the same capacity for displacement. And when it comes to how language began, displacement is a factor far more important than arbitrariness. Indeed, arbitrariness is a feature of many animal signals. To come back to the vervet's leopard call, there's nothing in it that, in and of itself, evokes or even suggests a leopard. Rather than forming a hierarchy, symbols, icons, and indices can best be visualized as the points of a triangle. Indices, at one corner, cannot under any circumstances have a capacity for displacement. Symbols, at the remotest corner, must have that capacity. And icons, at a corner closer to symbols, may or may not have it depending on how they're used. Among other animals, icons never developed that capacity, but it was potentially there, and it blossomed when language came along. Iconicity, therefore, is the most probable road that our ancestors took into language. So we've now completed the task that, as language engineers, we set out to accomplish. We can specify precisely the conditions under which an ACS could begin to morph into something completely different, with different goals and different means for getting there. Here are the specifications: Selective pressure: the need to transmit information about food sources outside the sensory range of message recipients. Probable means: iconic signs.

54

A D A M ' S TO N G U E

Now the question becomes, can we find any evolutionary model for this? Are we talking about something wholly unique to some human ancestor, or is there anything comparable among other species that we could use to guide us here? If not, we run the risk, endemic to this field, of floundering in a morass of speculation, a morass with no empirical floor to prevent us from being swallowed by the mud. It's happened to all too many before us. So let's stop thinking like engineers and start thinking like biologists. The comparative method is the core of evolutionary biology, and it's precisely the absence of anything language could be compared to that has bedeviled the field from the outset. It's time to start looking at evo­ lution and how it has worked in the past, to try to make some linkage between our specifications and things that have really happened. Where to start, though? The obvious place, the place almost everyone starts, is among the great apes. After all, they're our nearest relatives, made from almost the same genetic material. If there's continuity in the development of lan­ guage, that continuity surely should have a straightforward genetic basis · of some kind. Well, in the next couple of chapters we'll see about that.

3

SIN G IN G A PES ?

TH E I M PO RTA NCE O F B E I N G P R I M AT E S

By the close of the nineteenth century, everyone who wasn't blinkered by religious dogma knew that humans, far from being the special­ purpose product of some interfering deity, were members of the primate family who could only have evolved from something resembling a chim­ panzee. The full significance of this finding wasn't appreciated until in 1954 the discovery of the double helix structure of DNA ushered in the century of the gene. As discovery followed discovery, genetics came to dominate the life sciences. The determinism of Richard Dawkins's The Selfish Gene went mainstream; while lip service was paid to the environment and its influ­ ence, a consensus grew that genetics formed by far the most important driving force in evolution. As the close resemblances between the DNA of humans and great apes became apparent, more and more people assumed that most if not all of what had been seen as typically human (and in many cases, uniquely human) traits and behaviors were no more than expansions of traits and behaviors found among the apes. Such a view was encapsulated in the titles of popular works on human evolu­ tion: The Naked Ape, The Third Chimpanzee, and (of course) The Ape That Spoke and The Talking Ape. Here lie the roots of what Irene Pepperberg described as the "primate­ centric bias" in language evolution studies. It seemed self-evident that if humans were, indeed, no more than souped-up apes, the origins of language, or at least its immediate precursors, had to be found among chimpanzees, gorillas, and orangutans. This belief was reinforced by

A D A M 'S TON G U E

SINGING APES?

attempts, from the 1960s on, to teach some form of language to these species (more on this in the next chapter). Although, to most linguists, results of these experiments were equivocal at best, the case made by "ape-language" researchers found many supporters in other behav­ ioral sciences, and has been strengthened, over the past couple of decades, by the performance of another great ape, the bonobo or pygmy chimpanzee. Certainly the simplest and most straightforward story of how lan­ guage evolved would go something like this: Five to seven million years ago, the primate line of descent (which had already branched to throw off first orangutans and then gorillas) divided again. One branch went on to father bonobos and chimpanzees; the other was that of our ancestors. These ancestors, driven out of the forest and into the grasslands by global drying, were forced to make meat a substantial part of their diet. A rich meat diet enlarged their brains and thereby increased their intelligence. Intelligence was also enhanced by a factor common to chimpanzees and bonobos-social competitiveness. Apes were always trying to outwit one another, to gain prestige in the group, preferential access to mates, first dibs in a mon­ key hunt. This factor selected for the intelligence that meat supplied, set­ ting up a beneficent spiral. The old ape ACS, drawn into this spiral, expanded and diversified. At some point that it might be quite impossi­ ble for us to determine, the ACS flowed seamlessly into language. Language made life more complicated, and in turn itself grew more complicated to deal with these complications, until we finally arrived at our present situation. To doubt that our language has its foundations in ape behavior has become, in some circles, almost a heresy, enough to brand the doubter a closet creationist. That this conventional wisdom has achieved the sta­ tus of dogma, to be accepted on faith, regardless of the absence of evi­ dence-even if what evidence there is points in a contrary direction-is made clear in a quote from Steven Mithen's recent book on the evolu­ tion of language: ISO-56, 161-68, 218-21; gender roles, 156-57, 161 -64; habitat and, II2, II6-17, ISS-57, 165; hunting, II7-19; megafauna carcass diet of, 121-27, ISS-56, 161-68, 218-21, 247; niches of, 109-27,

mother-child communication, 70-72; "nursing poke" in apes, 19; weaning, 96 communication, 47-49 insects, 9, 17, 24; flight in, 9; as food, lI3; recruitment strategies, 131 -39; see also

specific insects instinct, 133-34, 142; vs. learning, 105-108 intelligence, 33-34, 56, 58, 109, 195, 199, 213, 214, 249; brain size and, 32-34, 213; concepts and, 195-210; language and, 58; niche and, 199; social, 26-27, 56

15°-68, 219-21; predation and, II3-14,

Intelligent Design, 8, 34, 94, 149

II7-19, 155-68; recruittnent and, 138,

intonation, 188, 238

159-68, 215-19; scavenging, II9-27, 143,

IQ, 34

145, 154-68, 218-21; social life of, II3- IS;

ltard, Jean, 74

speciation and, ISO-56, 214; see also

Ivory Coast, 26, 104, 120, 203

specific ancestors

"Out of Africa" vs. multiregional hypotheses, 147; speciation and, 148-56; see also evolution; language evolution

lactose intolerance, 96-97, 248 ladder-to-language theory, 56-57, 60, lI6 Lahr, Marta, 149, ISO, 151 Laland, Kevin, 98; Niche Construction:

The Neglected Process in Evolution, 99 Lamarck, Jean-Baptiste, 95 Lamarckism, 95-97 Lana, 82, 84 language: acquisition in children, 77-79, 185-86, 222; as autocatalytic process, 234; definition of, 3-4; FLB, 173, 180; FLN, 173, 179, 180, 239; instantaneity in acquisition of, 185-87; ladder-to­ language theory, 56-57, 60, lI6; music and, 61-65; properties vs. mechanisms of, 175; vs. protolinguistic modes,

Jablonski, Nina, 33 jackals, 26 Jackendoff, Ray, 179-80

61-70; slow development of language, 2lI-31; uniqueness and, 20-24, 28-3°,

Lennenberg, Eric, 6; Biological

Foundations of Language, 6 leopards, 43, 182; alarm calls, 43, 44, lI6, 182, 200, 206; concept of, 206-207

Leptothorax, 138 Lewontin, Richard, 99 lexigrams, 167, 169-70, 234-35 linguistics, 167, 169-70, 234-45; Chomsky and, 169-91, 235-4S Linnaeus, Carl, 5 lions, 26, II9, ISO li2ards, 16, II3 London, 31 Lorenz, Konrad, 17 Lower Paleolithic, 225 lumpers, 148 lying, 26, 31

234-38; see also creole languages; grammar; language evolution; linguistics; pidgin languages; protolanguage; syntax; words;

precursors of words, 43-47, II6, 144;

I07, I09-27, 148-56, 161-68, 219-21;

28, 32, 166; singing-ape hypothesis,

learning vs. instinct, 105-I08

language evolution, 3-15; ACSs as

70-72; niche construction and, I03-105,

and, 132-42, 164-68, 215-19; recursion and, 173-74, 179, 238-4S; selfishness and,

Leakey, Maeve, lSI

L

Language and Species (Bickerton), 35, 40

248; mother-child communication,

in, 10, 30, 46-47, 5S-S7, 58; recruitment

16S, 167, In 178

vocabulary

human evolution, 6, 7, 55, II4, 146-48, 213,

92-I08, 121, 164-68, 176, 219-21; pidgins and, 38-41; primate-centric bias

leaf-cutter ants, I05-106

imagination, s indexical signs, 47-49, 51, 52, 53, 190, 218,

Chomsky-Fitch model of, 128, 171 -91, 56-57, 60, II6; natural selection and,

hunting-and-gathering niche, 109, 156-57,

Hayes, Cathy, 74

credibility and, 28, 30-32; ecology and, 28, 30; gestures, 59-60; Hauser­ 245; ladder-to-language approach,

lI8-19; gender roles in, 157, 161 167, 214, 248

281

I NDEX

I N DEX

barriers to, 21S-18; big-brain fallacy, 32-34; Chomsky on, 168, 169-91, 192, 245; continuiry paradox, 35-36;

M macaque monkeys, 104, 203 MacArthur, Robert, 126 Machiavellian strategies, II4, 141 Macphail, Evan, 33, 34 macroevolution, 149-50 mammoths, 122, 208, 209, 218, 219

282

I N DEX

manipulation, 47-49, 79; vs. informative communication, 47-49 Marcus, Gary, 192, 193

music, 27; language and, 61-65

Odling-Smee, John, 98-99, lO3, 105, 246;

Pliocene, 71, II3

Niche Construction: The Neglected Process in Evolution, 99 Odum, Eugene, loO; Fundamentals of Ecology, lOO

pointing, 65

marsh, lOO N

29-30; see also mating signals mating signals, 16-17, 18, 19-20, 51; courtship dances, 19; fitness and, 19; swelling of female genitalia, 19; see also sexual display

Matrix, The (film), 34 Maupertuis, Pierre, 74 Mayr, Ernst, 129 meat, 49; diet, 56, lOO, II7-18, 121-27, 150-51, 161-68, 218-21; megafauna carcasses, 121-27, 155-56, 161-68, 218-21, 247; natural decay, 122; women as butchers of, 162-64 memes, 98, 192 memory, 206-207 Mendel, Gregor, 95 mental representation systems, 35

natural selection, II, 13, 96, 122, 149,

power scavenging, 161, 214, 216, 223 prairie dogs, 88

154-56

Nauru, II

"Out of Africa" hypothesis,

147

Neanderthals, 5, 146, 147, 213, 246

147 oxygen, 102

predation, 60-61, 193; aerial, 60; ancestors and, II3-14, II7-19, 155-68; savanna, II6-18, 122, 155-56, 165; serpentine, 60; terrestrial, 60; see also predator alarm calls; specific predators predator alarm calls, 18-19, 22, 42-44, 51,

negation, 222

60-61, II3, 132, 139, 160; of monkeys,

neurons, 82-83, 194, 195, 201, 205, 207, 233

42-44, 47, 53, 60-61, II6-17, 200-201, 206; as precursors of words, 43-44,

New Caledonian crow, 197 Newton, Isaac, 3

II6; see also alarm calls; specific predators

P

New Yorker, The, 238 New York Times, The, 33

pair-bonding, 63

predication, 43, 136-38

niche, definition of, 100

paleontology, 148, 212-13

prehumans, see ancestors

niche construction, II-12, 35, 92-lO8,

milk, 96-97; lactose intolerance, 96-97, 248; weaning, 96 Miller, Geoffrey, 29, 62 mind, 192-2lO; brain function, 192-95;

Papua New Guinea, 230

and, 109-27, 150-68, 219-21; bees and,

parrots, lo, 25, 85, 86, 87, 88, 196; language

131-34; cofounders of theory, 98-99;

potential of, lo, 85

definition of theory, 99-103; evolution

peacocks, 20; tail, 20, 29

and, 99-105, 148-56, 161; food and, loO,

Penn, Derek, 8, 9, 195

II7-27, 133, 154-68; genetics and,

Pepperburg, Irene, lo, 55, 85, 86,

great apes and, 109-lO, III; human

human, 195-97; see also brain;

evolution and, lO3-105, 107, lO9-27,

intelligence

148-56, 161-68, 219-21; intelligence

Mithen, Steven, 65, 68; The Singing

Neanderthals, 62 monkeys, 16, 26, 42-44, 104, 200-20I; ACSs of, 60-61, II6, 144, 175-76; alarm calls, 42-44, 47, 53, 60-61, 68-69, II6-17, 200-201, 206; "boom"

pantomime, 65

130-31, 231, 246, 247-49; ancestors

99-103, IIO, 131, 132, 134, 176, 214-15;

concepts, 195-210; nonhuman vs.

196 Pepys, Samuel, 73-74

Percrocuta, II4 Pfungst, Oskar, 75-76

and, 199; language evolution and,

phenorype, 99, 214

92-lO8, 121, 164-68, 176, 219-21;

phonology, 37-38

recruitment and, 132-42, 215-19;

photosynthesis, lO2

scavenging and, 109, II9-27, 154-68,

Pianka, Eric, 126

219-21; speciation and, 150-56, 214; see

pidgin languages, 38-41, 65, 88, 187-88,

also specific niches nouns, 237-38, 241, 242 "nursing poke," 19

223-26, 230, 231, 232, 234 pigeons, 198-99 Pinker, Steven, II5, 172, 179-80; The

Language Instinct, 20-21

morphology, 38

Piraha, 238, 239 plants, lO2, 155; food source, III, II2, II7,

Morse code, 144 mother-child communication, in humans, 70-72 MUller, Max, 74-75 multiple births, 96

Old Stone Age, 225 optimal foraging theory, 125, 126-27, orangutans, 25, 55, 56, 85,

Merge, 181, 182, 186-90, 234, 235, 242-45

concepts and, 200-201 monogamy, 62, 63

Povinelli, Daniel, 195 power, 29, 30

171-lJ, 183-85 Nature, 177

need, 24; language and, 24-28

Pollick, Amy, 59 Pound, Ezra, 245

Oldowan toolmaking, 120, 123

183-85, 199; language evolution and,

microevolution, 149-50

vocalization, 42; as chimp prey, II7-18;

283

musilanguage, 62-65

marrow, bone, 120-21, 127, 151, 152, 155, 220 mating, 10, 19, 63; female choice in, 19,

I NDEX

o

oceans, 100 O'Connell, James, 164

157; photosynthesis, 102 plate tectonics, 154 Plato, 4-5, 103, 204 Pleistocene, II3, 156

Premack, David, 202 primate-centrists, 10, 30, 46-47, 55-57 primates, lo, 24, 175; importance of being, 55-57; primate-centric bias in language evolution, lo, 30, 46-47, 55-57, 58; problems with being, 57-59; recruitment and, 159-68; social intelligence of, 26-27 proper names and words, distinction between, 80 protolanguage, 35, 40-41, 50, 57, 58-59, 142-43, 165, 180, 187; combinability of, 41-43, 229-31; Hauser-Chomsky-Fitch model on, 180, 187-89, 245; holistic, 65-70; linguistic vs. protolinguistic modes, 234-38; pidgins, 187-88; readiness for, 85-89; recruitment and, 215-19; slow development of language, 2II -31; variation-limited vs. selection­ limited theories, 84-89; words, 226-34;

see also language evolution protonouns, 216 protoverbs, 216 puncruated equilibrium, theory of, 93, 153-54 pygmy chimpanzee, see honobo

284

I N DE X

I N DEX

R

218-21, 247; niches, 109, 119-27,

rain forests, 63, 64, 100, III, 160

216, 223; territory, 123, 124, 125, 126,

ravens, 139-41; ACSs of, 140; recruitment,

220

139-41

and, 154-56 speech sounds, 230

Schick, Kathy, 122, 123

splitters, 148

Schusterman, Ron, 85

recruitment, 132-42, 211, 215, 223, 227-28;

Stanford, Craig, 157

Science, 128, 149, 172, 177; Hauser­

State University of New York, Stony

ancestors and, 138, 159-68, 215-19; ants,

Chomsky-Fitch paper on language "scream" vocalization, 60

displacement in, 216-18; language

scrub jays, 199

Indiana, 122

evolution and, 132-42, 164-68, 215-19;

seabirds,

sea lions, 25, 85, 87, 88

139-41; tandem running, 137, 138

Second International Conference on

recursion, 173-74, 179, 238-45; Chomsky on, 173-74, 182, 238-45

stone tools, 113, 120-26, 143, 151-52, 156,

II

the Evolution of Language (1998, London), 31

religion, 75, 104

selective pressure, 53, 84-89, 131, 133, 165,

Richerson, Peter, 167 Rizzi, Luigi, 244

sunlight, 102

Seth, 78-79

language and, 20-24, 28-30, 165, 167, 173, 178; niches and, 124, 165 utility, 24, 31; language and, 24-28

42-44, 45-46, 51, 132; fitness and, symbols, 4, 48, 49-51, 52-53, 81, 144, 160,

28, 32, 166

190, 217, 226; syntax vs., 49-51

sentences, 245 sexual display, 13, 19, 29,

uniqueness, 10, 20-24, 28, 61, 85, 144, 178;

survival signals, 16-17, 18-19, 22, 23, 18-19; see also alarm calls; food calls

selfishness, 28, 32, 55, 166; language and,

road signs, 4 Rotokas, 230

Studdert-Kennedy, Michael, 172

211, 226

Romantics, 74

U

Suriname, 160

selection-limited changes, 84-89

rhinoceroses, 122, 124

tundra, 100

162, 203-204, 213, 220, 224

reindeer, 124 reproduction signals, see mating signals

Trotsky, Leon, 246

meeting, 181 Stone Age Institute, Bloomington,

niches and, 132-42, 215-19; raven,

tooth marks, 220 Toth, Nicholas, 122, 123

Brook, 2005 language evolution

evolution, 128, 171-91, 245

carcass exploitation, 161 -68;

203-204, 213, 220, 224

149-50, 214; optimal foraging strategy

reason, 5

134-39, 141-42; bees, 132-33; for

stone, 113, 120-26, 143, 151-52, 156, 162,

speciation, 148-56, 214; genetics and,

154-68, 219-21; power, 161, 214,

285

syntax, 23, 38, 41-43, 46, 66, 76, 173-74, 217, 223, 226, 231; Chomsky on, 169, III,

162, 211;

173-74; origin of, 66-67; pidgin and,

language evolution and, 62

40-41, 223-26; precursors of, 45-46;

v

Van Heusen, Jimmy, 29 van Leeuwenhoek, Anton, 74 variation-limited changes, 84-89 verbs, 237-38, 241, 242 vervet monkeys, 43, 115-17; alarm calls, 43, 47, 53, 68- 69, 116-17, 206 Viki (chimpanzee), 73

round dance, 133

sharks, 86

Rousseau, Jean Jacques, 62, 74

shelters, primitive, 213

Royal Prussian Academy of Sciences, 74

shopping, 4

vision, 88

Royal Society of London, 74

sickle-cell anemia, 248

vocabulary, 227-29, 231

Rumbaugh, Duane, 81

symbolism vs., 49-51 Szathmary, Eers, 84, 131

von Frisch, Karl, 131 -32

sign language, 3, n 76-77 singing-ape hypothesis, 61-70

vultures, 119, 124, 127, 158

T

situations, 18, 21, 22, 25, 45, 115, 144, 216 size niche, 122

S

Skinner, B. F., 169

tamarin monkeys, see cotton-top tamarin monkeys

slavery, 90

tandem running, 137, 138

slips of the tongue, 236

Savage-Rumbaugh, Sue, 78, 89-90

Taung child, 114

Slobin, Dan, 39-40

savanna, 63, 64, 100, 112, 113, 145; dead

termites,

smallpox, 29

terrestrial omnivore niche, 109

Smith, John Maynard, 84

territorial boundary marking, 63

Saramaccan, 160

megafauna, 121-27, 155-56, 161-68, 218-21; predation, 116-18, 122, 155-56, 165; scavenging, 119-27, 155-57, 165 scavenging, 61, 100, 109, 119-27, 135, 142,

II,

105, 106; mounds, 105

snakes, 43, 44

territory scavenging, 123, 124, 125, 126, 220

social competitiveness, 13, 56, 57-58, 115,

tigers, 150, 163

145, 162, 221-22, 246

155-57; ancestors and, 119-27, 143, 145,

social intelligence, 26-27, 56, 90-91, 114

154-68, 219-21; catchment, 123-24,

social signals, 16-17, 18, 26, 51; fitness and,

125-26, 151, 155-56, 220; gender roles in, 156-57, 161-64; megafauna carcasses, 121-27, 155-56, 161-68,

19-20 South America, 33, 113, 160 spears, 213

Tinbergen, Nikolaas, 17 Tobias, Phillip, 212, 213 tools, 10, 13, 26, 109, 120, 232; Acheulean hand ax, 143-44, 154, 162, 213, 220, 225; apes' use of, 26, 120; Aterian points, 203-204, 213; cut marks of, 125-26;

W Waddington, Conrad, 99 waggle dance, 133, 134 warning calls, see alarm calls Washoe (chimpanzee), 75, 76, 82, 84 weaning, 96 weapons, 26, 122; barbed, 224; see also tools weasels, 114 Wegener, Alfred, 154; theory of continental drift, 154 Weizenbaum, Joseph, 170

286

I N DEX

West Africa, II2

x

whales, 100, 101 Whiten, Andrew, 26, 31

!xoo, 230

Wild Boy of Aveyron, 74 wild dogs, II9 Wilkes, John, 29 Williams, George, 10, 92, 105; on

Y

adaptation, 10- II, 92 wolves, 16, 26 woodlands, II2, II6, II7

Yerkes National Primate Research Center, 59, 7J, 81

words, 186, 226-31, 245; ACSs as precursors of, 43-47, II6, 144; emergence of, and concepts, 207-209; from signal to, 218-19; protolanguage, 226-34;

Z

templates, 237-38; see also language worm casts, 101 worms, II, 100-102 Wrangham, Richard, III Wray, Alison, 66, 67, 69

Zahavi, Amotz, 31 zoos, 83 ZuberbUhler, Klaus, 42, 200-201